


we who do not belong

by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot



Category: Incredible Hulk (2008), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Feels, Clint is the big brother Darcy never had, Darcy has Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Science Bros, Sexual Content, Swearing, TRIGGER WARNING: child abuse mentions in Ch. 7, Tony can be a meddling bastard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 76,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot/pseuds/WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them really fit in anywhere. Until they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing Bruce/Darcy, after having read some brilliant stories here. I cannot, for the life of me, remember which author writes Darcy as bi, but she is totally bi in my headcanon now, so thank you for that. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Enjoy.

 

 

When the other scientists at the Tromsø Observatory stare at her, their eyes asking “Why is she even here?” it does not bother her a bit. After all, she’s never really fit in anywhere, never really felt comfortable in her own skin. Why should Norway, working however briefly among other scientists, be any different?

 

 

***

Darcy is born in New York, but is displaced in Ohio by ninth grade. Dad gets a good job at a firm in Columbus, and Mom really wants out of the city; she says she needs a much slower-paced life.

She yells at them.

“Why couldn’t you’ve waited, like, four more years _until I was at NYU_?!“ And, alternatively -- “You could’ve figured this shit out before _I MADE A FUCKING LIFE HERE, WITH FRIENDS AND SHIT_!”  

The rift between her and her parents lasts for about a month after they move, once she realizes her parents were all she had here, a stranger in a strange land.

 

 

***

  
Darcy is popular in the city, but pretty much a freak in the Midwest. She is a moody thing sometimes, likes wearing black everything, and responds to any question or comment directed at her with way more snark than sweet.

She is all about experimenting her junior and senior years of high school, kissing boys and feeling up girls, until she realizes she isn’t just experimenting and decides she’ll date whomever she damn well pleased. She realizes she’s bisexual, truly, and that it wasn’t a phase, while she works as a barista to help pay for her first year of college. She spies a slender brunette, her lips glossy from espresso and whipped cream. After a little flirting, the brunette comes back the same day, and they make out in the alley behind the store. They date a few of months, no big deal. She ends up with Wesley Morton at the end of her sophomore year. They go out for almost 8 months, until she catches him cheating on her.

Which also happens to be the same day she finds an ad for a summer internship in New Mexico, a lab assistant to two astrophysicists for 6 college credits. So, off she goes, because _what the hell._

 

 

***

Thus, Darcy starts at NYU as a poli-sci major, and ends up with Jane, Selvig, and a whole lot of _science_! She harbors the tiniest crush on Jane, although she’s fairly sure Jane doesn’t hold the highest regard for her lack of scientific skills; her resume did say political science, though, so Jane really has only herself to blame for choosing outside the discipline.

However, one insane night, they discover aliens. Sexy, buff aliens who come with hammers and thunder and batshit crazy homicidal armor. He is gone as quickly as he came, and after he leaves, Jane does more science. So much science, it makes Jane forget to take showers and eat.

One night, she comes armed with a cheesecake, several packets of freezer piña coladas, and The Princess Bride.

“Just one more simulation, Darcy-”

“Touch that laptop, Tiny--”

“Tiny? I’m half an inch shorter than you.”

“ _Touch_ it,” she continues, undaunted by Jane’s interruption, “and I will sit on you, force feed you this Kahlua cheesecake that I totally made from scratch, and pry your eyelids open to make you watch Buttercup and Westley awesomeness, until you die. From the awesomeness.”

“Darcy, I have to…”

“Watch girly movies with me all night, get drunk on cheap-ass coconut drinks until we pass out and you can talk all you want to about Tall, Blond, and Asgardian because you need to. I’m pretty sure Selvig’s not up for girl talk.”

That last bit makes Jane’s resolve crumble away. She eats half the cheesecake while tearfully reminiscing about her goodbye with Thor, wondering if she’ll ever see him again.

That moment is when she officially goes from “Darcy Lewis: Jane Foster’s middling assistant” to “Darcy Lewis: Jane Foster’s BFF!” It is also the moment that her crush on Jane transforms into something far more special, far more sisterly. She knows she would lay down her life for that girl, would throw herself bodily into some gnarly Destroyer armor if it was aiming to blow up Jane’s head. Jane, smashed on colada slush, pinky swears to do the same.

She muses to Jane about wondering what Sif looks like under that uniform. She always did have a thing for Xena and She-Ra.

“What about Thor’s blond friend with the goatee-” Jane says.

“Hmm… Fandral.” She gazes at the wall in front of her dreamily.

“Yeah. He seemed like he wanted the Darcy Lewis Experience.” 

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t kick him out of bed either.”

 

 

***

Presently, they are in Norway, a year since they last saw Thor. They are jet-lagged, rubbing their sleep-deprived eyes, all red-rimmed and glossy but somehow functioning two days later, no matter that she feels like a partially leaded zombie at the moment. She needs coffee. And her music. And she knows Jane needs to eat and engage in normal human hygiene maintenance.

Darcy's already gotten about 12 _SHUT UP!s_  from Jane, all before 8:30 in the morning, Norway time. It really wouldn’t be a normal day if she didn’t tick off Jane a fuckload. They are so bone tired from the trip but, according to Jane, there is much _SCIENCE!Yay!_ to do today, so chop-chop!

Thanks for the stupid surprise consultation job, Agent Stolen iPod Jackass. She will never not call him that.

There are numbers in front of Jane at the moment; she is trying to figure out what they all mean. According to the angry hissing noises and indecipherable muttering coming out of Jane’s mouth to absolutely no one but her laptop, the readings from the last 72 hours are completely whacked.

“It’s like someone’s playing a crazy game of tennis with the space-time continuum,” Jane mumbles into the pen between her teeth.

“Readings can wait. You haven’t slept since we got here, and you need to eat.”

Jane waves her off. “Food later.”

“Food now.” She shakes her head and stomps off to the break room to get her some juice and pastries.

There is a TV on, and judging by the engrossed crowd surrounding the television set, something important is happening. She winds her way over, the Norwegian chyron at the top, subtitles at the bottom.

The scene behind the reporter, of fallen buildings, of streets broken and torn apart. And... _Aliens_! Those are _fucking_ _aliens_! Holy shit, they are fast, zipping through the city on spacey, futuristic flying motorcycles or something. A blur of red and gold shoots at them, and she pumps her fist every time Iron Man knocks one out of the sky. A streak of red, white and blue hits a whole army of these über-fugly alien things, knocking them at least ten feet back. It’s a red, white and blue shield, belonging to a really, really authentic Captain America wannabe (her grandparents were huge fans). The on-the-ground reporter tries to get a statement, but he’s shouting at her to fall back, pointing to some off-screen perimeter, and then he goes back into the melee. There is a roar behind the reporter; she sees one _massive_ green man, smashing out of buildings, smashing into buildings, smashing creatures with his fists, tearing them apart like they were made from Legos.

She sees the portal, a hole in the sky, above her city. Again, New York is under attack. The damage is widespread. The body count must be high. She still has friends in New York, and... Oh God! Had there been any time to evacuate? Had they been able to get to safety?

The screen comes to life again, and she sees lightning bolts crackling, fire lighting the broken New York sky, all aimed at a single figure attached to the top of the Empire State Building. Her eyes widen and she cannot believe what she is seeing, but it is him. The flowing red cape, the long blond hair, the hammer held aloft in his hand, lightning undulating around it.

She trips over herself, spilling coffee on the floor, ignoring the shouts from the other scientists about the mess she made.  

“Darcy! What are you… _Oh my GOD_! Stop! Darcy, I was right in the middle of-”

She doesn’t bother telling Jane to shut up, or to get out of her rolling office chair. She simply pushes her out into the hallway, into the break room -- _Y_ _eah, inelegantly and rudely, whatever_! She shoves everyone out of the way, and plants her right in front of the TV.

“Aliens are in New York, Jane.” Her voice trembles with fear, with excitement from seeing Thor, with anger that her city, her beautiful, busy, gaudy, flashy city, was under attack. Again. “He’s back!”

“Aliens? Back? Who’s back, Dar--” Jane’s eyes widen when she realizes who, and she flattens herself to the TV screen. She yelps when she sees him, with shaky video obviously taken from a nervous cameraman. He is riding some enormous metal monster worm thing that undulates between buildings, both he and the giant green guy -- _Who clearly has anger management issues, but damn! What a fighter!_ \-- hit the thing with all of their might, and they plow it, actually _all_ of them, into Grand Central Station.

Jane jumps up from her seat, forgetting all the NDAs and the confidentiality agreements she signed after New Mexico -- _Agent_ _Stolen iPod Jackass made them sign like, all of them, ever made_. Jane grabs her by the shirt and shakes her until her head nearly pops off. “Thor! Holy shit, Darcy! Thor! It’s Thor!”

They spend the next two hours on their phones, and Jane makes apologies for cutting their trip to Norway short, but the observatory understands as the attack in the US takes precedence. It takes them three hours, and at the end of it, they have a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopter waiting for them, ready to take them to a plane that will take them back home.

Only when they get on the helicopter do they find out that the battle has been over for hours, and that Agent Coulson, Mister Agent Stolen iPod Jackass himself --  _the amount of guilt every time that nickname pops up, unwittingly, just plain sucks! --_ with whom they had clashed in New Mexico, had been killed in action. She and Jane spend the rest of the flight back in silence mourning his death, reading and watching as much as they can about the invasion.


	2. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce meets Darcy, lab assistant extraordinaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and bookmarks and general support for my first AO3 work. It's been a great introduction to the Bruce/Darcy and Avengers fandoms.
> 
> I'm going to try to update about once a week. Hopefully. So long as real life does not get in the way. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!

 

 

This is not a good idea.

In fact, it is a very bad, monumental clusterfuck of an idea.

Yet, Bruce Banner goes along anyway.

 

***

 

Bruce meets Natasha Romanoff, and more bad ideas follow. That exposed nerve explodes, thanks to Loki’s staff, thanks to a hundred things said and thought and betrayed in that S.H.I.E.L.D. lab. However, before he can run away again, convincing himself him leaving is for the better good, Tony Stark’s voice is in his brain. Suddenly, he is sucked into this insane Avengers Initiative. He’s on a team, as the Other Guy fighting on the side of heroes who are, frankly, just as messed up as he is.

Then there are t-shirts and toys, all with his face on them. Or, more accurately, the Other’s Guy’s face. Sometimes, it’s his fists. Sometimes, the fists make noises, saying things like “SMASH!” and “HULK STRONGEST THERE IS!” Yet he has no idea where they come up with these phrases, because the Other Guy sure as hell has never said them. Okay, _maybe_ he has said “SMASH!” before. To be honest, he wouldn’t even remember if the Other Guy quotes Shakespeare during battle, since any memories after he transforms are a green, fuzzy blur. He feels about as comfortable with the whole notion of merchandising out the monster as Steve Rogers feels about Captain America trading cards, and he really does not like modeling children’s toys from the beast. He says nothing, because Tony thinks it’s good PR.

He just rubs his hands until his knuckles turn red and raw.

 

***

 

Bruce moves into Stark Tower. This one confuses him the most, as Tony was simply giving him a ride to the Port Authority, but first, there’s a detour, thanks to the damage levied by the Chitauri. Next thing he knows, he’s checking out his new lab space with the billionaire at the tower.

He realizes he’s been tricked, practically seduced by Tony. It is impossible to tear himself away from all the shiny equipment, all at his fingertips. It’s all so… _new_. When a scientist goes on the run and is forced to test weeds and plants as possible controls for the monster within, premium lab equipment is hard to find. Just the thought of conducting his research in this lab space makes him-

What the _hell?_ Somehow Tony has built a miniature particle accelerator.

“Oh, yeah, I did do that. Also created a new element. No big.” Tony rasps his knuckles on his arc reactor.

How is that even possible?

 

***

Within the past month, he's already broken several of the well-defined, pre-established rules. For himself, and for the Other Guy.

Rule 1: Never stop running.

Rule 2: Do not get close to anyone.

Rule 3: Avoid stressful situations.

His entire life is one stressful situation after another. Especially given the events of the past month. However, despite it all, despite the lies, despite the S.H.I.E.L.D. spies, despite the aliens attacking and the gods of mischief, he no longer runs. He cannot explain it, exactly. It hurts to admit that it feels good to set roots somewhere, to not feel the breath of the military hot on his neck. He hates that he’s enjoying this time at Stark Tower more than he fears it. He does not want to run, and that single thought is counterintuitive to how he’s lived his life for almost a decade.

He hates feeling like this because what the hell was he doing with his life for so long? It absolutely does not help that he gives a damn about the people he’s met. Developing attachments is a direct violation of Rule 2. He tells Tony that he can’t live here in the tower, not while he and Pepper live here. For God’s sake, what if he loses control and hurts Pepper? Tony would never forgive him. _He_ would never forgive himself.

Maybe he should lose control though, he thinks. That would teach Tony not to play with his brand of green fire. The carnage, the human casualties - his butcher’s bill would be incalculable. Isn’t it already as big as the Hulk? His bill drips with red. There is always room for one more name, one more face.

One more body. The amounts of blood that he has spilled, and will spill, seem endless.

Except that this isn’t right. It’s not a healthy way to think. Hasn’t he moved past these self-destructive thoughts? For now, he has control of the monster; however, he cannot predict the future. There could always be another Loki’s spear, another Helicarrier attack. He could try to keep the Other Guy at bay with each provocation, only to have the smallest trigger awaken him, to have him roar out of his slumber, bloodthirsty and craving violence. Stark Tower is not some inconspicuous little building tucked away on a deserted island; he now lives in New York’s most talked about, most publicized address. Especially after the Chitauri attack. And now, he is an Avenger.

He is as much of a magnet for trouble as any of the others.

Despite all this, he stays. He meditates and wakes up each morning to find that calm, cool center of the hurricane within, the tempest that is Bruce Banner. He is always angry. However, as with physics, for every emotion, there is an equal and opposite emotion. So he clings to that peace, and every day he wakes inside his room at Stark Tower means that his anger is under control. Perhaps Tony is right - all the poking and prodding helps him maintain that cool center, that balance that is absolutely necessary to remain Bruce Banner, to not let the beast completely take over. Every day, it gets a little bit easier.

***

 

Although, today is _severely_ trying that center.

He finds himself in the unenviable position of having to tell Tony Stark no, and since Tony Stark doesn’t even comprehend the word no, he sees this quickly devolving into one of those stressful situations he tries to actively avoid. He remains calm, thinking about working in a little Tony-Speak, using humor to deflect (Tony) and diffuse (himself) before things get out of control.

“I’m not sure I get your deal with me having _more_ people around, Tony. I’ve never needed a lab assistant, I don’t really want a lab assistant--”

“You do not want green eggs and ham, you do not want them, Sam I am,” Tony sing-songs back to him.

He twitches. “Look, I’ve dealt with a lot that’s been thrown, tossed, literally shoved in my face the past month. Just the fact that the last time the... Other Guy,” he says with some hesitation, “came out to play, he did so willingly, and under some semblance of control is a miracle. It’s a hat trick. And I can’t be certain that he can be released with the same amount of control each and every time.” He returns his attention to the glowing computer screen to finish testing his data.

“You sell yourself way too short, Cupcake. If you can do what you did while facing down those giant, flying Decepticons all the time, you’re going to be just fine.”

“Tony. I’m already ‘fine’. Adding anything else, _anyone_ else to my situation would be-”

“Party time?”

“I was thinking a recipe for disaster. Potentially.”

Tony, who is eating some sort of energy bar, slings his arm casually over his shoulder. “Brucie goose, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. _You_ are a hero, the Hulk is a hero.” He taps his chest with the half-eaten bar. “I can attest to that personally.” Bruce shrugs off the statement with a quick glance, but the reminder of what the Other Guy did do during the battle is heartening. He just doesn’t want Tony knowing that. ”Besides, is a lab assistant really going to give you more agita than an army of bloodthirsty aliens and an Asgardian mischief god?”

Bruce opens his mouth to reply, but cannot say anything. When Tony puts it like that, he has little room to argue.

The doors to the lab slide open and two women - both very young - walk in. He looks at Tony, his eyebrow cocked. Sighing resignedly, Bruce folds his glasses shut, quite certain that he’s already lost.

“And here they come,” Tony says with a wink. This, undoubtedly, means trouble.

Both girls have long brown hair. One is petite and her hair is pulled back in a swingy ponytail. She flashes the biggest, toothiest smile at him. The other is curvier. She wears thick-rimmed glasses that slide almost to the tip of her nose, and her hair flows in loose waves. She smirks rather than smiles, and to her side, she carries a bag practically as big as she is. She is very attractive, and he can’t help but notice that her shirt hugs her body like a work of art, as well as the way her hips move when she walks-

Wow, these thoughts are totally unacceptable. The girl is half his age, he has no business checking her out. Clearly, in the short amount of time he’s known Tony Stark, the billionaire has been a horrible influence.

Maybe he’s been on the run for too long. Maybe he should be settling down, especially if he keeps having borderline inappropriate thoughts about pretty girls who are so - damn - _young_.

“I’m getting two lab assistants?”

“Technically, not _getting_. Dr. Foster, here, is letting hers out of her cage, and she’s splitting time between both labs.” The dark haired girl with glasses and pout glares at Tony, rendering herself even poutier. “That one,” Tony gestures toward her, “Miss Congeniality - that’s yours.”

“I heard that,” the pouty girl retorts.

“Wonderful. Let’s give the scientist with major anger management issues a sullen assistant. Brilliant move, Stark.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses swinging between his fingers. As they draw closer, the girls bring a pleasant aroma of Indian spices along with them. They must have come from some restaurant. A pang hits his guts; he realizes that he is hungry.

“Ladies!” Tony claps at them. “So glad you could join us.” He holds out a hand, and guides the ponytailed one, by her shoulders, toward Bruce. “Dr. Banner,” Tony says, his voice mild, professional, his face a study in smirks. Dick. “May I introduce Dr. Jane Foster.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she says, beaming. He shakes Dr. Foster’s hand. He feels ashamed for not giving her enough credit when she first walked through the door. Her work is, quite frankly, astonishing, especially for someone in the early stages of her career.

“Likewise, Dr. Foster. I’ve read your paper on the structural formulas behind the theoretical application of the Einstein-Rosen bridge. Groundbreaking stuff, although, I guess the application is much less theoretical these days,” he says with a laugh.

“Oh... Oh my! You’ve read me?” She blinks, surprised. “It was your work with gamma radiation that formed the basis for my calculations. You did see that I cited you, right?” She speaks so quickly, it makes him laugh heartily, to his surprise.

“Yes, no worries there.” It is just like how his first meeting with Tony went, he thinks. All science, a brief mention of the Other Guy, or at least an oblique reference, and that’s that. He’s about to further discuss molecular models of gamma rays and the Tesseract’s energy, but a not-too-subtle cough draws his attention away. The other girl, the curvy, fair-skinned girl with pouty lips and dark-rimmed glasses holds out her hand.

“My turn. Darcy Lewis, lab assistant extraordinaire.”

He blinks. “So I’ve heard. Nice to meet you, Darcy.”

“Don’t worry, despite what Stark’s told you,” she shoots Tony another glare that probably would have made any other man’s head explode. “I’m delightful.”

“See? Ray of sunshine.”

Darcy wiggles her finger at Tony. “Watch it. I will take all of your coffee, and I will spit in it, all of it, so help me.”

Bruce cocks an eyebrow, shakes his head and clears his throat. “Miss Lewis-”

“Call me Darcy, Dr. B. It’s cool.” She is blunt, sarcastic, pushy. She does not understand boundaries, or, if she does, she tramples over them with all the grace of… well, the Other Guy. He has way too many boundary pushers in his life already; he really does not need another.

“Darcy, then. I don’t know what Tony’s told you about this job, but I honestly don’t need a lab assistant.” He looks pointedly at Tony. “I’ve managed this far without any help. I’ll be fine without it.”

She stares flatly at him. “Yeah, okay. When was the last time you ate?” Her arms are crossed and she stares at him, defiance strong in her eyes. Her question throws him completely off.

“Uh, well, I think it was…” He looks up at the ceiling. When was the last time he ate anything? He is pretty sure he ate lunch… There was a bagel involved. Or maybe he is thinking of breakfast? “What time is it?”

“7:30, B. At night. Have you eaten anything at all today? Besides that pack of nuts next to your computer?”

His eyes follow where she’s pointing. There is a bag of half-eaten unsalted raw almonds that he forgot was there. On cue, his stomach betrays him, a low rumble that probably, most definitely, confirms her suspicions. Darcy Lewis, lab assistant extraordinaire, rolls her eyes. Muttering something under her breath about scientists, she reaches into her Darcy-Lewis-sized bag, and pulls out a styrofoam container. The smell of spices again wafts through the air, and he starts salivating as she hands him the container. “I know you’re a vegetarian, so that’s vegetable curry, garlic naan, and rice from across the street. They loaded it up too. All yours.”

He stares, disbelievingly, at her. “This is really for me?”

Darcy sighs and wiggles the box in her hands. “Take it. Consider this my job interview, job offer, and acceptance of said offer.”

He takes the box from her, as well as napkins and plastic forks and knives. Sitting down back in his seat, he opens the container. It smells incredible, just as it did when he ate curries and fragrant rice back in Calcutta from his favorite street vendor. He takes a bite of the golden, sauce-covered vegetables, and immediately feels warm from the mix of garam masala and cumin dancing on his tongue. Also, he may have moaned a little.

Tony holds a hand up over his eyes, “It’s obscene what you’re doing to that curry, Doc. Keep it in your pants.”

“This is really, really good. Thank you.” He is so engrossed in his meal that he barely registers the sound of wheels rolling on the floor. Darcy leans way back in a thickly-padded office chair.

“Big curry fan: check. For future reference, I make a mean curry. I would’ve made you one tonight, but I didn’t have time to get to the store.” She spins around, a blur of dark hair and pale skin.

“Seriously? You can make this?” He tries to hide his mouth behind his hand, hoping that his hunger has not made him forget his manners.

“Darcy is a great cook. Indian, Thai, Italian,” Dr. Foster rattles off. “She makes a Kahlua cheesecake that’d make angels weep for mercy.”

“Totally what Jane said,” Darcy continues. “I cooked a lot for Jane and Selvig while we were in New Mexico. One of my many talents, feeding people. Also, I ordered supplies, dealt with asshole distributors, and whizzed through research,” she says. She then clears her throat. “However, before I accept your offer-”

He raises an eyebrow; of course no offer has been proffered, but like that stops someone like Darcy Lewis from taking what she wants. “I may be out of practice running my own lab, but I do know accepting Indian food does not constitute a job offer these days,” he deadpans.

“I should be totally upfront and honest with you…” He raises his eyebrow. Darcy bobs her head a little, hesitating. She twists back and forth in her seat. “I’m _kindasorta_ … more of a _political_ scientist than a _scientist_ scientist.”

Surprised at this admission, he is even more surprised at himself for not outright dismissing her. Instead, he smirks. “You don’t even have a science background.”

“She was the only one who applied to my ad,” Dr. Foster rolls her eyes, but she smiles warmly at Darcy.

“To be fair, I’m a quick learner,” she answers, her head swerving between him and Dr. Foster. “Who made sure you were stocked up with all necessary supplies and got them on time?”

Dr. Foster sighs. “You did, Darcy.”

“And, who catalogued every shot, slide, picture, and so on and so on, which, as you and I both know, there were, like, a gajillion of them last year.”

Dr. Foster holds her hand up. “Darcy was - _is_ \- a good lab partner. She might be slightly, super distractible-”

“Only when you use the big science words.” She holds up a single finger.

“And, if you sneak up on her, she will Taser you within an inch of your life.” 

Darcy jabs her finger at Dr. Foster. “One time, dude! That was one time. Totally unfair! Jeez!”

“You Tasered someone?” he asks.

“I Tasered Thor.” Darcy winks at him; unwittingly, he feels a warmth spread across his chest, and he swears he can hear the big guy chuckling with approval somewhere, in the deep recesses of his brain. “That was obviously before we knew who he was. And to be fair, he was super scary, totally not in his right mind, and was yelling for Myeuh-Muh.”

“ _Mjolnir_ ,” Jane corrects her.

“Whatever.”

“Well, now you’re mispronouncing it on purpose.”

“ _Whatever_ Jane! Anyway, he was freaking me out hard-core, so I had to drop him.” Darcy Lewis says this last part so matter-of-factly, so nonchalantly, that it surprises Bruce. He stifles a laugh. Tony outright guffaws.

Swallowing his last bite, Bruce seals the box as he wipes his mouth. He is about to dismiss her, to tell her thanks for coming in but there is no way this could possibly work out. Not only for her lack of scientific background, but for all the dangers being in close proximity with him entails.

_It’s not a good idea. It’s not a good idea. It’s not a-_

“I’ll start tomorrow,” she says before he can get the words out. She rises out of her chair, pats him boldly on the shoulder, causing a wave of heat to shoot right into his chest. She picks up her huge bag, shoulders it with a heave, turns her head and winks at him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Dr. Banner.” Dr. Foster again offers her hand for him to shake.  

“Oh no. No Dr. Banner or Mr. Banner here. Please, call me Bruce,” he says almost breathlessly. He is still thinking about the position that Darcy’s put him in.

“Well then, I’m Jane.” She gives him a wave and walks out of the lab, with Darcy's back against the open door frame.

“Catch ya tomorrow, B! I’ll be in in the afternoon, after Jane’s done with her experiment.” Flashing two fingers in a peace sign, Darcy disappears around the corner, and he is left with Tony, wondering what the hell just happened.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Tony. No, scratch that - I have a _horrible_ feeling about this.”

Tony slaps him on the shoulder. “I fail to see how such a young and _buoyant_ ,” he cupped his hands in front of his chest, “assistant would be anything other than a boon to your work.”

Bruce simply stares at Tony Stark, slowly shaking his head. “How is it you don’t have a billion dollars worth of sexual harassment lawsuits going after every Stark penny already?” His face suddenly freezes.

“Please don’t tell me you’re trying to set us up. Tony?”

“Ask me no questions, Jolly Green, and I’ll tell you no lies.” Tony, again, throws an arm around him. “C’mon. Pep’s upstairs and she wants to see her favorite guy.”  

“And you need me to come with?” He is exasperated, but he comes anyway. A part of him misses this, the need for others, the simple idea of belonging, and secretly, he would never tell Tony, this stuff, this inclusive stuff thrust upon him by Mr. Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist, begins to fill the holes left in him from all the years of running away.

“She asked for you specifically. Says you’re a good influence on me. So you’re her favorite. For now.”

“Ah.” He turns off the light in the lab, keys the code to lock the sliding door. He still has not me to grips with the strange feeling of contentment growing in his chest, but he thinks maybe it will become a thing where it does not feel so otherworldly, so foreign to him.

Maybe he will learn to live with it, as he has learned to live with so many other things.


	3. Of Toys and Drinking Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy shows Bruce her toys. And she drinks with the rest of the Avengers. No big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for you comments and kudos. I really appreciate them. 
> 
> Again, unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

A week goes by. Darcy feels she is settling into lab life with Dr. B surprisingly well.

He is far more easygoing than she had suspected. Funny, too; he has a dry, witty sense of humor and timing that she plays well off of, that makes daily banter with him effortless.

So what if it turns to a little harmless flirting every now and then? At least, he is not eyeing her with the look that says, “ _You are literally, certifiably, insane_.”

He does not condescend to her; even Jane and Selvig couldn’t stop themselves from speaking to her like she was in science kindergarten whenever they went into super astrophysicist jargon territory. Additionally, for a man who turns into a giant green rage monster, Dr. B is kind of adorably scruffy. From his plain old button-ups, open just enough at his collar to let the tiniest bit of chest hair peek through, to his ill-fitting khakis and old, dusty brown shoes - the entire ensemble screams _Physicist_.

It suits him, this inconspicuous, shy man, this genius who has spent much of the past decade on the run. She likes that he’s her delicious, adorable secret. No one should ever find out what a delight Bruce Banner is, she thinks, and it is a strangely, oddly possessive thought.

 

 

***

 

 

Before she goes to her shift as Bruce’s lab assistant, Darcy takes a moment, just between the elevators and sliding doors to compose her face. She rearranges herself until she knows she is no longer blushing. _G_ _oddamn her pale-ass skin!_  She takes a few breaths to control the bounce in her chest.

Such is the way she develops her crushes.

She sashays in, the whoosh of the sliding doors announcing her entrance. “Yo! Dr. B.”

He looks up from one screen to another, smaller tablet, sliding figures around and punching the transparent monitor above his work station. “Good afternoon, Darcy. How are you today?”

She twitches her lips when he doesn’t take his eyes away from his research to look at her. _Even though I’m wearing the good boob shirt too. Dammitall!_

Darcy comes around to the front of Bruce’s rig and sets her plastic bag down, making sure it’s conspicuously loud. This does the trick, as Bruce finally looks up, into her waiting, expectant smile. He chuckles. “Do I want to know what’s in the bag?”

She grins, her smile quirking to the right side of her face. “Absolutely you do, but remember, this isn’t for me. It’s for my nephew. He’s, like, five. So no getting angry.”

He folds his glasses and places them on the table. “Now I’m intrigued.”

She purses her lips together, trying to suppress a smile. She rustles in the bag, and pulls out the items, but first hides them under the table. “Remember, don’t get angry.”

“You really wouldn’t like it if I did,” he says dryly.

Slowly, her smile relaxing into a teasing smirk, she shows Bruce what she’s been holding. Her stomach drops as his face falls.

In her right hand, she holds a boys’ T-shirt. It is green, with a drawing of the Hulk’s face and his fist with a comic balloon where “ _SMASH!_ ” is written in big, cartoon letters. In her left are two green Hulk fists, with holes on the bottom into which a child can put their hands and pound things into pancakes.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Darcy relaxes, as Bruce sounds less angry, and more… Exasperated? Amused? Exasperately amused? Amusedly exasperated. This is the game she plays with him on most days - Guess Dr. B’s Emotional State. To be fair, his emotional state seems to run the gamut from amused to humored to a healthy dose of "Why am I even here?" Fun times.

“He’s a huge Hulk fan.”

“You should tell him to idolize Captain America.” He shakes his head. “Far more wholesome.”

She winces a little, catching his slight turn inward. His body stiffens and he seems less inclined to joke with her about the toy and shirt. However, there are cracks in that shell, she thinks. There have to be. Darcy, who is never one to let a small thing like scientists living with giant rage monsters inside of them stop her from a mission, girds her loins. She decides to find that crack and set up camp there.

“Well, he likes Cap, but he loves the Hulk. 100% his absolute favorite. So how about you do me a solid and sign these for him?”

He turns his eyes up at her, slowly, disbelievingly. She holds her breath for a second, waiting, hoping for a smile she prays will come…

It actually does. _Halle_ - _fucking_ - _leujah_!

“You want me,” he asks, slowly, his eyebrow arched in amusement, “to autograph toys for you?”

“For my nephew,” she corrects, her hand out, palm facing towards him.

He snorts. “Your nephew needs a better set of heroes to follow. Like I said, Captain America.”

She grins. “He’s five, remember. Boys his age think everything is a ball, a bat, or something that needs to be punched. The Hulk appeals to that. Also, you know what toys are selling the most right now?” She waves a green fist in the air. “Face it, B. You’re the bee’s knees.”

There’s a very long sigh. “The Hulk’s popular, despite whether I think that's a good idea. Bruce Banner’s a physicist. I am far less interesting than the Hulk. I like it like that.”

She hums appreciatively. “That part's debatable. But my nephew thinks it’s pretty awesome that you’re this brilliant, unruffled scientist by day, and then you Hulk out and smash shit whenever bad guys are near. So, to him? You’re, like, double cool.”

Bruce snorts. “Still, should you be encouraging him to go around and smashing things?” he asks sagely. She hears the wry tone underlying his voice, so she comes around his work station and stands next to him, holding the Hulk fists out. He takes the fist in his own hands, turning them around, examining them. His lips turn up. “Are your nephew’s parents really happy that you’re giving their son toys that encourage him to hit things?”

She winks at him - she has gotten really, _really_ good at winking at Bruce. “See, that’s why I’m awesome Aunt Darcy. I’m the one who encourages all the wicked bad behavior. Then I get to leave and let my legacy shine, and my sister has to deal with the aftermath.” She spreads her hands out. “This is my gift.”

Bruce laughs. Then he takes the fists and bangs them on his table. A roar escapes from them, making her yelp. “ _HULK SMASH! HULK SMASH GOOD!_ ”

“Does that even sound like me?” he asks her. Darcy’s hand grasps her chest. She is both laughing and trying very hard not to have a heart attack.

“You should warn a girl before you Hulk out with her toys.” She giggles - _Giggles. Really? WTF?_ \- and feels a surge of heat as Bruce meets her eyes, lingering for a beat or two longer than normal.

“So, anyway,” she says, running her finger over the knuckle of the big green toy fist, “for frightening the crap out of me, you should totally take me out for dinner.”

That was the first thing out of her brain? Apparently, Bruce has scared any last bit of anxiety over flirting with her boss. Well, technically he's not her boss, as Bruce does not pay her. Tony’s the boss, and he totally wants Bruce to get laid. She blushes, but focuses on him, waiting for him to answer.

He doesn’t. Not immediately. Instead, once he stops looking at her, he searches, finds a black marker that she uses for labeling. Pressing the tip of the marker against his lips, she recognizes the steady, pensive look on Bruce’s face, as he stares at the green fist and T-shirt in her hand. “What’s your nephew’s name?”

“Timmy.”

He chuckles. “Timmy. There’s a good, all-American name if I’ve ever heard one.”

He writes, first on the fist. He does not say anything for a while, and she thinks he’s in deep concentration with whatever his autograph is going to say and has completely forgotten her super lame attempt to go out on a date with him. _Thank God!_ After he’s done, he sets the fist aside and pulls, very gently, the boys’ shirt from her grasp.

He finishes up his autograph, his tongue between his teeth as he writes. “There. Hope that’s parent-friendly enough for him.”

Darcy is not sure if she’s ever smiled more ginormously before, but she's sure she's positively beaming at him. She grabs the fist and shirt and reads what he’s written on both. On the shirt, all it says is _To Timmy, Hulk’s favorite!_ On the right Hulk fist, in smaller handwriting around the wrist opening - _To Timmy - SMASH away! Eat your veggies. Especially green ones! Hulk_.

She smiles at the writing. “Very responsible and upstanding, B.”

“Sometimes, I amaze even myself.” Bruce caps the marker and tosses it onto his workstation.

“Captain America’s got some serious competition,” she says, smirking at him, letting her eyes linger on him for a few seconds.

“As to your suggestion about dinner, as friends-” Her heart races, even though there is a weird swoop in her belly when he says, “As friends.”

“I’d be more than happy to treat you to dinner. It’ll be a thank you for your impeccable work as my part-time lab assistant.”

“Better believe it. You scientists need someone to keep you in line.”

Though she feels disappointment that he did not take her “We should totally go on a date!” bait, Bruce doesn’t totally shoot down the idea of them spending time outside of work together, so hey! Victory. Kind of.

She continues to smile, finding herself needing to look away when she catches herself staring at him longer than intending to.

Again.

 

 

***

 

Darcy cannot sleep, and she does not really know why.

Well, yeah, she knows why. Nightmares. Sometimes of aliens attacking Stark Tower. Sometimes of the Destroyer armor. Fire pours out of its head, and before she or Jane or Selvig can move, the flames engulf them. There are screams and they do not die right away. She can sometimes feel her skin melting, smell her hair singeing. Tonight, for some reason, her parents are watching her burn, and yet they do nothing.

Nightmares, man. They can be a cruel bitch.

Jane is sleeping like a baby, and she is so jealous of her, but she does not turn on the television in their Stark Tower apartment, which is so much nicer than any apartment Darcy has ever seen, even on those HGTV shows, Million Dollar Homes, or “Fuck-Me-I’ll-Never-Live-There” or whatever. Tony can be a snarky asshat at times whose gaze slips not-at-all-subtly to her boobs more often than she’d like, he is incredibly generous with his money and he’s a great friend to Bruce, surprisingly.

Additionally, much respect to anyone who can outsnark her. Tony always does.

She goes out to the kitchen, part of the common area that connects the floor of apartments. She remembers seeing a loaf of brioche. _Bet good money that it’s Pepper’s or Natasha’s, plus since it’s in the common area, it’s game for anyone. She hopes._ She thinks there is some milk in the refrigerator; she prays it’s still there so she can make her favorite, strange concoction of warm bread and milk with cinnamon. It’s her favorite comfort food when she can’t go to sleep.

She hears voices - not just one voice, but several - and there is laughing, clinking of bottles, and much swearing. She hears most of them: Tony, Steve, Clint and Natasha. Thor is the loudest of all of course, because a body that huge can only produce sounds just as big.

Her heart falls a bit when she doesn’t hear Bruce is part of the carousing.

She doesn’t know any of them all that well, really; she’s usually passed out like a light during their (in)famous Avengers insomnia sessions. She’s never had any one-on-ones with Cap or Clint or Natasha. Natasha especially. She kind of freaks Darcy out. She has no idea about what they would even talk about? How to kill a person with only a button and scotch tape? Natasha’s totally the Macgyver of assassins.

She knows their voices because…. Well, just because. One lives with a group of heroes for a little over a month and you figure out certain things, like the sounds of their voices.

Darcy pauses when she hears a chuckle that is all too familiar. The studious laugh of a man who likes to keep some distance away from others, who hesitates sometimes before responding to a joke, as if uncertain whether he can join in, whether people want him to join in. He always sounds a little separated from the rest.

 _Yes! He_ is _there._

She passes by a mirror to straighten her hair. It is a nest of rats and knots, thanks to her bad dreams. Thank goodness for the hair band she wears around her wrist, a cheap bracelet that doubles as an emergency hair styler whenever she requires it.

She walks into the living room. “Having a party out here and no one invited me? For shame!”

Bruce is clearly startled to see her, but smiles all the same. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope. Kind of glad I couldn’t - looks like I’m missing out on all the fun.”

“Lady Darcy! You grace our presence with your formidable beauty and unbridled spirit. I am honored.”

This is why Thor is her favorite. She taps him on the shoulder. “Hey Big T. Next time you’re out here partying hard, remember to wake me up.”

“Indeed! I do ask your forgiveness if mine and Jane’s zealous mating disturbed your slumber. The fairest Jane is not so quiet, as one would think.”

There is a collective spit-take and choking around the table. “Was it something I said?” Thor asks curiously worried. Across from her, Darcy hears, “...not enough vodka in the world,” and something in Russian. Natasha, undoubtedly.

Steve Rogers, whose entire body appears mortified by Thor’s admission, clears his throat as his blush dissipates. Darcy observes him, admiring just how oddly _un_ tired he looks. Despite his mortification over Thor and Jane’s relations, he looks like he could still go 45 miles in an hour while feeding orphans and orphaned puppies, protecting baby seals, and feeding the homeless. And it’s about one in the morning, so his physical perfection is unparalleled, except, perhaps by Thor. And Natasha, although she looks less like a protector of the innocent and more of the "I will spear all you in the eyes with a chopstick" type.

After clearing his throat again, Steve gestures at her to join them. “There’s always room for one more, Miss Lewis.”

She snickers at the “Miss Lewis” part. “It’s Darcy. Miss Lewis makes me feel like a librarian.” Steve chuckles.

“Darcy, then. Please call me Steve, since we’re on the topic of first names.”

“Cool.” She gives him a thumbs up. “Man, the heart attack I will potentially give my Nana when I tell her I’m on a first name basis with Captain America will be massive! She loves you, by the way.” Steve coughs again when she says this, the red creeping back up his cheeks. Captain America blushes twice within two minutes, and from something she said.

Her life will never _not_ be this awesome.

Tony snaps his fingers and kicks out a chair next to Bruce for her. “Sit, Sunshine.” She glares at him, fully aware that she’s simply giving him fodder for calling her that. She also doesn’t think about the pointed glare that Bruce shoots Tony for drawing so much attention to the empty spot next to him. _Best not to read too much into that... I don't even want to know._

Darcy sits down. “Um, beer?”

“How uncooth.” Tony swirls his glass. “You sit at the adult table, Sunshine, you drink like an adult. For example,” he holds his crystal glass in front of his face, the amber liquid inside catching light, giving off a radiant alcohol-imbued fire, “the Cire Perdue, aged 64 years. She cost me $460,000 at auction.” He twirls the glass, the Scotch swirling gracefully and sniffs it, eyes closed as he soaks in pure, alcoholic bliss. “Worth - every - beautiful penny.” He offers her his glass. “Go on, Pollyanna. Take a sip.”

She does, and… _Oh my God!_ The shit, it burns! She coughs and gags and swears a lot. “That’s horrible.”

Clint nods at Tony. “Personally I think it tastes like flaming asshole.” He tips his bottle to Darcy, a Pabst Blue Ribbon. She makes grabby hands at it.

“Ooh! Gimme.” He tosses her the bottle as Tony shakes his head.

“Plebeians. Seriously.”

Natasha furrows her brow. “Don’t pretend you’re not thrilled no one will drink your own personal brand of antiseptic. That simply means more for you.” Tony opens his mouth to reply, but snaps it shut, apparently thinking better of it. He tips his glass to the others and takes a long sip.

Darcy accepts the chilled bottle of PBR that Clint tosses her way and sits next to Bruce, feeling a little bashful for about five seconds before shaking it off. She flashes him another smile, one she hopes is winning. _Then again, when isn’t her smile absolutely goddamn charming?_ She asks, “So, what’s the topic of conversation tonight?”

Steve runs his fingers over the lip of his beer bottle. The good old captain is slugging back a Sam Adams, which seems very patriotic. “We’re sharing war stories tonight, about Agent Phil Coulson.”

Darcy swallows, hiding her frown behind her bottle of beer. She takes an extra big gulp.

“Did you know him?” This is Bruce asking. She does not answer right away, not wanting to say anything at all. She shakes her head rapidly, which is when Thor pipes in.

“The Son of Coul knew Fair Jane and Lady Darcy well, although he did not endear himself to them, at least when they first crossed paths.”

Sometimes, Thor could be her least favorite.

“Oh, you’re _that_ Miss Darcy ‘Pain-in-my-Ass’ Lewis,” Clint says. Now it’s her turn to choke on her beer. She hears a slightly strangled cough to her left and side-eyes Bruce, who’s pressing a fist against his mouth.

“The hell? He never said that! Did he?”

“Nah, he didn’t, but I could totally hear it in his voice every time yours or Dr. Foster’s name came up in debrief.” Clint, the smug bastard, winks at her and takes another sip of his beer. She narrows her eyes at him, but feels herself soften when his expression falters, his brow creases with a worried, distant countenance.

“Well, I’ve got to hear more about this.” Tony took another drink, and pointed at her. “How in the world did you get under his skin so badly?”

She feels her throat crack, a little, as if any moisture has suddenly evaporated from her body. The beer label softens from the sweat of condensation on the bottle and, absent-mindedly, she starts picking at it. “After Thor landed, he came in with a huge mess of S.H.I.E.L.D. goo- agents,” Darcy shoots a quick glance over at Natasha, who simply has one eyebrow cocked, like a pistol, “agents. He took all of Jane’s equipment, her journals, research, everything. Selvig’s too.” She feels an awkward lump growing in her throat. She shakes it off. “And he took my iPod.” There’s a snort from Tony.

“You kids, with your crazy toys.”

“You’re one to talk. Look, it was the first thing I ever got with my first, big, grown-up pay check from Think Coffee.” Darcy rubs the bits and pieces of the now-shredded PBR label into little paper balls. She lines them up on the grain on the wood table. The table is some fancy-pants thing she’s certain Tony ordered special for the house. It is far less tech-y, more comfortable and softer than the other big pieces of furniture. Perfect for late night gatherings with larger-than-life individuals who need some place to call home.

“I bitched about him for ages. Couldn’t even refer to him by his actual name.” She takes another long swig of her beer. “When he called Jane to tell her about the Tromsø thing, I called him what I always called him.”

“Which was?” Tony says, swirling his hand in front of him, motioning for her to continue.She doesn’t know why she looks at Bruce at that particular moment, but she does. He gives her an awkward smile.

“Agent Stolen iPod Jackass,” she mumbles. There are a few stray giggles.

“Not the most elegant nickname ever.” Natasha raises her glass. “Then again, I can see how Phil could inspire it.”

Darcy blinks. “That was the last thing I ever said to him.” She inhales, deeply, and pinches her nose, rubbing the sides with the pads of her fingers. “Which kinda makes me feel like the biggest dick ever.”

She feels a pat on her shoulder, and Darcy warms when she realizes it is Bruce whose hand is resting on her back. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“The _last thing_ I ever said to him when he contacted Jane. Now I know why he sent her away, why he sent _us_ away.”

“When we last spoke, Son of Coul assured me he moved both yourself and Jane to keep you out of Loki’s reach.” Thor is gravely serious. “It was for your own safety.”

“Yeah, Thor. I know. So he does this thing, this totally awesome act of kindness, something that most likely saved our lives and kept us off of Loki’s radar - he did that for us, and I call him _that_.” She feels even worse about it than before the conversation began, admitting how badly she thought of someone who had been looking out for them, who had given his life fighting a being far more powerful than any human on Earth, ever.

Then the trifling part of her personality admits that part of why she feels so awful is because Bruce is here, and he is hearing how shallow she can be. Really, she is so incredibly selfish to make a big deal out of an iPod, when Agent Coulson was dealing with aliens trying to take over the world.

“You’re not, Darcy. There was no way you could’ve known.” Bruce answers her with that soft, wonderful voice of his, which is when she realizes she said her selfish comment out loud, and now the rest of the table is staring at her. Great. She even manages to turn a tribute to Agent Coulson into The Darcy Show.

“You know,” Natasha begins slowly, “one thing about Phil was that he loved getting under people’s skin.”

“A fact I can attest to personally,” Tony adds, his hand raised. “He could make bad TV a threat of physical harm.” Natasha smirks at him.

“He was a formidable ally.” Thor nods. “He questioned me without fear or intimidation. Granted, I was bound by my Midgardian body. However, had I chosen to raise arms during his inquiries following my capture, I am certain he would have proven to be a truly great warrior, a mortal with a true spirit for fighting. Much like yourself, Captain.”

“Um... thanks, Thor,” Steve nods, but his smile is the definition of awkward.

“He was rooting for you, big guy.” Clint nods toward the Asgardian. Darcy’s head ping-pongs back and forth between them. “Wanted you to pick up that hammer back in Puente Antiguo. Honestly,” he shrugs and tips his bottle towards Thor, “both of us were rooting for you.”

Solemnly, Thor bows his head. “Then I am grateful that I proved myself worthy of the Son of Coul’s esteem, as well as yours.”

“I think this calls for a toast.” Steve holds his beer up high and stands. “To Phil Coulson.”

“A terrifying man with horrifically bad taste in reality television. I mean, Supernanny of all things?” Tony follows suit and stands with his glass of amber held high in the air. Darcy does not fail to miss the slight crack in his voice, the rasp that breaks his smooth delivery.

“To the best handler a pair of misfits like us could’ve asked for.” Clint, gesturing toward himself and Natasha. He rises, his bottle held out into the center of the little group. Natasha slowly slinks out of her seat and raises her own clear tumbler of what Darcy can only surmise was pure Russian vodka.

“To a great warrior. Asgard will sing of his bravery until the end of our days, as the mortal who spent his final breath demonstrating to my brother what true Midgardian courage is.” Thor holds aloft his mug, which looks to be roughly the size of Darcy’s head.

Bruce is next, but he is holding a cup with a teabag bobbing in it. “I am sorry I did not know Agent Coulson better. Although, there was this one time, while I was in Central Africa-”

Natasha gives him a perfunctory nod. “That was him.”

“Ah. He assisted me when I was in some hot water with a local militia. Or, more accurately, when the _Other Guy_ was in hot water.” A rueful chuckle escapes Bruce. “To Agent Coulson, then.”

Steve Rogers bobs his head. “To Phil Coulson, a great man, a greater warrior-”

“Also your greatest fan,” Tony teases. “Don’t forget.”

This earns him a glare from Captain America. Darcy’s fairly certain that this is not an uncommon occurrence between the two Avengers.

“To Phil.” Darcy looks at the rest of the group and lifts her glass. “To Agent Stolen iPod Bad-Ass.” She smirks. “That’s probably lame, but apparently, he was quite the bad-ass, no?”

Clint nods. “He was the best.”

The group clinks their glasses together and finishes their drinks, wiping their mouths with their arms, hands or, in the case of Steve Rogers, a napkin. They sit back down to refill their glasses for another round.

 

***

 

It is two hours later, and the group breaks up, going to their respective rooms.

Darcy is a little buzzed, her head has that pleasant fuzzy feeling that comes from drinking two…. No, wait, three? Three beers. She thinks. Also, there might have been a shot or two or four of whatever assassin juice Natasha was drinking.

Because she’s a little buzzed, because her inhibitions are just _that shy_ of Fuck-It-Ville, Darcy seeks out Bruce Banner, who is being dragged back to the lab by Tony. He sees her and tells Tony something. Tony, for his part, rolls his eyes at Bruce, but when Bruce walks toward her, Mr Stark, the idiot, smirks boldly at her, and gives Darcy an _OK_ sign.That meddling bastard. She does not want to know what that _OK_ is all about. She is _almost_ sure she does not want to know.

She forgets Tony Stark super quickly though, because Bruce is approaching her, all knowing smile and hands casually shoved into his pockets. She shyly smiles at him, realizing this is the second time she’s done this tonight. It is becoming a habit.

“So that was totally awkward.”

He shakes his head, his gait a casual stroll, maybe with just the tiniest bounce in his step. “Maybe a little. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. They’re certainly not the most judgmental bunch, you know.” He shrugs. “If they don’t mind me letting my other half out to play in their sandbox, I strongly doubt you did anything to sour relations with you.”

Darcy swats him on the chest, playfully, coyly, and lets her hand linger there. She lets her happy buzz wash over her, and a raspy giggle escapes her lips. “Yeah, but see, the Hulk’s a real hero, right? I mean, raise your hand if you saved New York and have a line of toys selling out of stores that kids are dying to pick up?” When Bruce doesn’t raise his arm, she wraps her hand around his wrist and pulls it up.

“See, B? You belong on a team full of heroes. Don’t sell yourself short.” Before she thinks better of it, she reaches up and _boops_ him on the nose. She totally has a great excuse for doing that. She’s kinda drunk and he’s über adorable right now, with that messy curly hair and that furrowed amused look on his face. It would’ve been a real tragedy, a genuine crime against humanity, not to _boop_ him on the nose. He stares at her, wide-eyed and surprised, laughing nervously. It’s so fucking endearing that she has to stop a wave of desire to kiss him right on the spot.

“Um, it’s late. Do you need anything before you go to bed?”

A thousand innuendos die on her lips. Darcy shakes her head, grinning at him. “Nope.”

He walks beside her, his hand steadying her, resting his hand on her lower back.

“You didn’t drink tonight?”

“Oh no. I gave up alcohol long ago. That’s a different story for another time.” Bruce guides her up the first small flight of stairs. “Anyway, I prefer substances that don’t inhibit control or encourage emotional extremes.”

Darcy nods. “Makes sense.”

There is not much talking after that, but she leans into his touch. It’s so nice, feeling him supporting her. It’s so very… _Mmm!_

“This is me,” Darcy says, pointing at her door.

“So it is.” Bruce pulls his hand away from her back. If she is not mistaken, he is taking his time pulling away from her, dragging his hand across her hip until there is no more of her to touch. She tingles just thinking about it.

Bruce leaves her leaning against her door. He’s about to walk up the stairs that lead to his room, but, instead, he turns and starts talking to her again.

“You know, Clint seems like a decent guy.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. He’s great.” She’s barely listening to him, preferring instead to stare at his disarming face and his slender frame. She wonders what he’d look like without that purple shirt and those khakis that he’s so fond of wearing, and - oh, what the hell! She’d rip off those boxers and/or briefs he wears underneath all those pesky clothes. With her teeth. She grins, feeling wicked, but quickly realizes he has mentioned Clint, and now he has an odd look on his face.

“Well, I mean, I know he’s…. Some people think he’s, you know…”

“What?” She narrows her eyes at him. This conversation has taken a very odd turn.

“Some people - women, men too, I’m sure - think he’s attractive. He may have a little baggage, but,” Bruce says with a shrug, “who doesn’t?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Before she can ask Bruce why all of a sudden they’re talking about Clint and how attractive people think Clint is or whether Bruce’s preoccupation with Clint means he’s attracted to Clint, Darcy yawns.

“I’ see you indamorn…” The yawn breaks up her words and she barely gets the last bit out. All her buzz has left her, and whatever high she was riding has sunk her into the sleepiest of lows.

“Sure, sure. Take your time getting in. Light day tomorrow.”

“Hmm… night, B.” The door slides open and she has just enough of an opening to stumble in and roll onto the couch, practically falling asleep the second her head hits the throw pillows. She thinks, but is not entirely sure, that someone places a blanket over her and turns out the lights, but the last thing she hears is the _swush_ of the sliding door before she falls into a deep slumber.


	4. Of New Projects and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce hesitates, but ends up presenting a proposal to Darcy. She, obviously, accepts. There may be fedoras involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has science. A lot of science. Much of it may be gobbledy-gook, and some of it may conflict with comic canon for Bruce. I'm also working on limited knowledge of what transpired for Bruce pre-accident, so... yeah. Hopefully everything fits okay.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos. Y'all are wonderful!

 

 

Bruce knows why he doesn’t walk away immediately. It is because she is drunk and he wants to make sure she gets into her room all right.

He does not know what possesses him to mention Clint Barton to her, his attractiveness, or that he might be a suitable… date? Yeah, a possible date for Darcy.

He tests her because of some silly notion that she likes him. He blames that stupid dinner invite yesterday, clarifying that she meant they go as friends. Except that was for the best, really. Having friends and fighting bad guys on a team of superpowered and highly trained individuals was one thing. But dating? No, that’s a whole other can of worms, an entire bag of crazy that Bruce isn’t touching. Not with a Hulk-sized pole.

Tonight, Bruce realizes Darcy is clearly flirting with Clint, and he is flirting back. At least, he is ninety-percent sure they are flirting, not that he is any great expert in that area. He catches the dreamy way she looks off in the distance when he mentions Clint’s name, which more or less seals it for him.

Darcy Lewis likes Clint Barton.

This realization doesn’t make it any less harder for his stomach to take. A strong tide of emotion constricts his chest when he thinks about it.

Yet Bruce tucks her in, making sure she is secure and comfortable on the couch. He can hear the thunderous snores of Thor coming from Jane’s bedroom in the background, and he leaves her apartment, hoping he can forget this by tomorrow morning. He also hopes not to feel whatever _this_ thing is inside him. Because he does not need that.

The Other Guy definitely does not need that.

 

 

 

***

 

 

“Dr. Banner.”

“Yes Jarvis?” Bruce plugs in more numbers and he moves around the molecular array, plugging in other figures and formulas where he sees fit. He has to admit that J.A.R.V.I.S.'s 3D holographic simulations are proving indispensible for his work, as he can set up various theoretical paradigms without the pesky unpredictability of gamma radiation that could unwittingly create a whole army of gamma irradiated creatures out of Stark’s staff. He makes a note to thank Tony the next time he sees him when he realizes J.A.R.V.I.S. is talking and he has not been paying attention.

“I’m sorry, J.A.R.V.I.S. Can you repeat that?” 

“Certainly. Miss Lewis has asked me to relay to you that she will require hot coffee as soon as she arrives. I estimate her arrival in approximately five minutes.”

“Ho boy, then. Can you save this model for me then while I put a pot on?”

“Certainly, Dr. Banner. She also asked me to make sure it is, and I quote, ‘brain melting’. If I may,” the smooth, disembodied voice continues, “there is a bag of Italian espresso beans in the kitchen area that may suffice Miss Lewis’ requirements. I can assist you with the Jura if necessary.”

“No, thanks though, J.A.R.V.I.S. I think I finally got the hang of the machine.” "The machine" is yet the subject of another one of Tony’s “poking Bruce” moments. Tony believed throwing an espresso machine at him was a brilliant idea, a doctor whose time on the run never included anything resembling a coffee shop, and who actively avoided any chemicals likely to cause agitation, such as caffeine. So, Tony decided Bruce needs to fully experience-

“The Jura J9." Tony caressed the machine like a lover. "If Ily’s the Rolls Royce of barista systems, this is the Bentley.”

Tony then asked him to make him something called a doppio, _sans_ manual.

His first time out, Bruce struggled with the piece of equipment for about thirty minutes. He was grateful the Other Guy didn’t make an appearance after five minutes. Tony simply buffed his nails on his shirt and whistled away, while Bruce wondered why he even agreed to do this. Most likely it was because:

1) learning the process of something appealed to his scientific nature, and

2) screw the Other Guy.

He recognized the need to stumble, to get frustrated and a little angry every now and then, in order to exercise his control.

Now, he can make a mean espresso, even if he doesn’t drink them himself, but at least he appreciates the process of assembling the beverage. This is a skill that is coming in handy right now, as a hungover Darcy Lewis approaches. He tops off the small cup just as the sliding doors to the lab opens, and he plates the drink for her. He hears a groan as she enters the lab. She does not look particularly unwell as she is dressed in her normal button-up shirt and black skirt with tights, but her hair is covering about half of her face and her sunglasses are on, even though she is indoors.

He holds up his caffeinated creation. “It looks like you need this.”

She groans again, one hand pulling her hair back, the other taking the cup and saucer. She sits down in the nearest chair. “Dr. B, remind me next time I drink with you guys - _Beer before liquor, never been sicker_.” She hiccups into the back of her hand.

“If I remember last night accurately, I’m pretty sure I said something to you before you knocked back that second shot from Natasha.”

Darcy slowly turns to look at him. He cannot see her eyes through her sunglasses, but he’s certain she is visually, mentally, flipping him off. She takes a sip of the coffee, her brow furrowing after the first taste. “This is… awesome.” She sips again and again, humming with each drink. “Man, if the physics and superhero fighting thing doesn’t work out for you, you’d have a helluva career as a barista.”

Bruce chuckles. “I appreciate the validation, Darcy.” He leans back, his hands resting on the kitchen counter. “How are you feeling? Up for doing some work?”

She makes a noncommittal noise, that leads to another grunt, and she kneads her forehead with her fingers. “As long as I don’t have to do, uh, anything. Sure? Also, can you make the lights stop making that… that noise?”

“I think that means turning them off, and unfortunately, we can’t do that.” 

“But they’re so _loud_! Ugh,” she whines.

For the rest of the afternoon, Bruce sets her to work on combing through his old research, cataloging the work by date and image and subject. It is probably the best job for her in this state, as J.A.R.V.I.S. does most of the computerized heavy lifting; she arranges the hard copies of the work, organizes and labels them, and J.A.R.V.I.S. scans them, creating a literal holographic digital file cabinet for everything prior to going on the run, and then the work he did while on the run that Tony has somehow managed to collect.

This is a big project. If Tony had his way, none of these papers would exist in the physical world anymore. However, this is Bruce’s way, and he prefers to keep hard copies of his work. If he can hold it, it physically exists. It is a project he has entrusted to Darcy, who is surprisingly organized and efficient.

Darcy works and works and she even manages to clean his equipment and his cluttered lab space as well. She is quiet, except for the occasional moans and creative swearing. If he is being honest with himself, Bruce would admit that he misses her non-stop talking. The quiet in the lab unnerves him.

After several hours of work, and of Darcy’s organizing, Bruce finally takes a peek at the clock. It is nearing six.

“Call it a day, Darcy.” 

She turns around from dusting the shelves, and gives him a smile, the sunglasses long since discarded. “Well, that’s a new one.”

“What?”

“You, calling it a day before I am. Usually I have to drag you out of here.” She jumps down from the stepladder and stands next to him.

“You seem to be doing much better now.”

She smiles, with a rather sly expression. “Guess a little hard work is good for what was the mother of all hangovers.” They look at each other; if Bruce isn’t mistaken, there’s something rather charged in the air. He can’t put his finger on it. He thinks to himself: it must be J.A.R.V.I.S.

“Can I show you something before you leave?”

Darcy shrugs. “Sure. Whatcha got?”

He touches a few things on the large glass monitor that hangs just above his work station. He moves a couple of figures around. “J.A.R.V.I.S., can you dim the lights to 25% illumination, and put these images up in a holographic array?” 

“Of course, Dr. Banner. To what magnification?”

He looks back at Darcy. “Big enough to fit in our hands.”

“Very good, Doctor.”

The lights dim in the lab, even the computer monitors go to sleep, and a soft glow bathes the room. Darcy faces the glowing models now floating above Bruce’s desk. It is about the size of his head, these hovering spheres suspended in the air in front of his face. A cluster of cells are packed tight against each other, and a hazy fog surrounds it, oblong and asymmetrical. Such a small thing, these little pieces of himself. And yet, it nearly destroyed him. Everything he knows, everyone he loves… Life as he knows it, just gone.

“This is it.” He points, his glasses folded in his hand, at the cluster. Darcy stands next to him, her arm reaching out to the bluish-silvery balls.

“What is… Wait. Is this…?” She points at him, her finger swiveling back and forth between the ball and Bruce. “This is what you’ve been working on, what makes you The Hulk. Isn’t it?”

He nods, his lips pressed together. “I’ve finally developed an accurate rendering of the particular gamma particles that are floating around inside of me.” He says the last part with some hesitation. “This is a sample of my cells, infected with gamma radiation. I’ve mapped everything, the origination of the gamma ray infection in my frontal lobe, to the neuropathways, all the way to the cellular level. It’s something I started while I was on the run, but the equipment I had then was… _primitive_ , to say the least. Tony’s equipment is, decidedly, of the non-primitive variety.” He chuckles, but Darcy does not. She stands in front of the suspended cells, lips parted, breath halted.

She is in awe.

She lifts her hand, reaching out as if to touch the floating cells. “They’re so… beautiful.”

Bruce watches her. His eyes dance between her and the image hanging in the air. The cells are as detailed as the images from an electron microscope, and yet, these cells, by virtue of being his, are different from a normal human’s. The bonding with the gamma rays leaves a faint aura around them, which he has determined facilitates the flooding of gamma energy emitted from his brain.

“This field here,” he says, pointing at the asymmetrical haze surrounding his blood cell, “is not just emitted radiation from the gamma infection. It contains the chemicals released by my frontal lobe that facilitate my transformation. That rush to the adrenal glands that triggers-”

Darcy lets out a breath. She waves her hand delicately through the cell, her fingers touching the outer edge of the haze. “The Hulk.”

Bruce nods. “Yeah,” he says, almost in a hushed whisper. “The Hulk.”

She pinches her fingers, as if intending to squeeze two of the cells together. The holographic cells compress between them. Darcy sees how they respond and she grabs one, slowly pulls it up and holding her hand out. The cells sit in her hand, turning when her hand turns, flipping upside down when her hand flips. She examines them with care, and Bruce watches her as she does.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She laughs, but remains spellbound by the holographs. “Now I’m really regretting not going to med school.”

He swallows and shakes his head. He is having difficulty focusing on anything but Darcy as she remains transfixed by his physiology. She guides the cells over and walks backwards, standing next to his side.

“It’s like the coolest, geekiest lava lamp ever.”

Bruce laughs, more heartily this time. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

“So, you’ve just mapped out your entire Hulkified system,” Darcy says. “What are you going to do with it now?”

Bruce jiggles the cells into his hand, but Darcy keeps hers on it. It does not escape his notice that their fingertips are close to touching. He takes a deep breath before he explains. “What happened to me was a result of so many things. Hubris, for one.”

“You? Prideful? Can’t see it.”

Bruce gives her an appreciative glance. “There’s a certain amount of arrogance that comes with being a scientist. I don’t mean your obvious ‘God-complex’ brand of arrogance, but we study the forces of nature, what makes us and the world tick. If there’s something that needs improvement, we do everything in our power to make it so, even if it isn’t its natural state to be improved.”

“Kind of like accelerating evolution if it doesn’t move fast enough for you?”

Her hand bobs. So does the cell along with it.

Bruce nods. “Yeah. We want bigger, better, faster, stronger, and we want it now. Which is how,” he starts, his hand twisting, making the floating cell twist as well, “the Other Guy was born. Because I was part of a project to discover how someone like Steve Rogers could be created. I really wanted that discovery too.” He can hear the desire thick in his voice, and still present after all this time.

Somehow, years of living on the run does not quell that need to know, that thirst for discovery. As if the Other Guy was simply one stage of the study. He hopes that his process these days is tempered with more caution, more patience.

Darcy’s brow creases. “What happened?”

He grunts and looks away from her, gazing at the wheels on his office chair. His hand falls from the holographic cell back to his side. “General Ross happened. There wasn’t enough patience or protection for anyone in that lab, especially when we were working with something as volatile as gamma radiation. He wanted results fast. Too fast. In the end, the environment wasn’t suitable to work with gamma rays, and it put everyone in that lab in danger, even his own daughter, Betty.” He nearly chokes on her name, and the picture in his mind reveals her to him, in all of her slender-faced, gentle beauty. His heart pangs at those last few days with her on the run, waking up naked in caves next to her, nearly making love to her in a cheap motel. He can still smell her all over his skin, four years later.

When Darcy says nothing in reply, he continues. “Not that I can remain blameless from any of it. I did not exercise enough caution. I ignored protocols, I tinkered with destructive things that I didn’t properly respect.” He unfolds his arms. “Simply put, I lost.”

A pregnant pause fills the room. After a beat of silence, he feels her slide her hand into his. His breath halts and his hand freezes. His instinct is to jerk away, yet somehow, even that has changed. Maybe it is because Tony has poked him one too many times, and his body is used to close physical proximity. Maybe it is because of Darcy Lewis herself, the way she clings to him, teases him with pats to his chest and arms around his shoulders. Hell, he even found himself comforting her last night, even walking her to her room as she leaned against him. It’s been ages since he’s allowed someone this close. He finds it is nearly instinctual with her.

When Bruce does not move, Darcy takes it as an invitation to twine their fingers together. This is strange territory for him, having this young woman’s hand in his, this intimate touch. The last time he was this close to a woman was Betty. He gulps and pushes the thought away, back into the recess of his mind, which he shares with the Other Guy. Instead, he focuses on the reassurances mapped out by simple contact with her skin.

“There’s a different way to think about it.”

“Oh?” Bruce struggles to keep his voice steady. Even.

“Think of it as gaining a new life.” She grins. “Sure, it doesn’t meet up with your expectations, but you’re living the good life in this tower, working your mad scientist mojo. You’re part of something now, too. Also, you’ve met me, so that right there is, like, worth a million points.”

Despite his mood earlier, he grins back. “A million?”

“Well, give or take infinity, yeah.” Bruce laughs, more heartily this time.

“Carry on, Dr. B, with your anatomy and physiology lesson that I so rudely interrupted.”

He nods and pulls away from her, but not because he actually wants to. “J.A.R.V.I.S. can you pull up image 197 please?”

“Holographic array, Doctor?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

The cells shift and disappear, and his nervous system appears, hanging in midair. It is unnerving, how ghostly the disembodied simulated series of nerves and spinal column looks when it floats in the air. He rotates it until the frontal lobe, imaged in red, faces them.

“Dude.” Darcy inhales, sharply, whistling between her teeth.

“This is where the brunt of the gamma radiation absorption took place in my body. Adrenaline, emotion, impulse control, it starts right here, in the orbitofrontal cortex.”

He points to the area, which illuminates in red.

“The prefrontal cortex.” Another larger area lights up in yellow. “And the frontal lobes.” He swirls his finger at the corresponding portion and it colors blue under his touch.

“The processes that create The Hulk are centered in this area in my brain. I’ve eliminated any possibility of separating him from my own physiological functions.”

“Which means?” Darcy asks.

“There’s no cure for this.” Bruce taps his head as he speaks and he can hear the muted bitterness and remorse evident in his voice. However, his resolve remains unswayed. What happened to him was awful, indeed, but he is slowly learning to live with it. Finding a way to help others, putting his research into non-military use, helps him cope. Any good that can come out of his accident ensures that the nasty turns his life has taken will have, somehow, been worth it.

He continues talking. “There may be a way to examine the specific powers that The Hulk has, particularly rapid healing, and see if that will translate into medical applications.”

Darcy whistles. “That’s, well…” She laughs. “Um, that’s pretty incredible.”

He cocks his eyebrow. “Really?” he asks slyly.

“Really.”

He shakes his head, amused; his smile does not leave his face. “It’ll take some time, you know. We have to figure out containment, safety protocols, or whether we can study gamma radiation in a controlled, protected environment for a long enough period to even allow discovery of any possible health benefits.”

“You’ve got the resources, already.” Darcy said, gesturing to the entire lab.

“True. Tony is already on board with it. Plus,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “there is another issue. This one’s very problematic.”

“What is it?” 

He points with the corner of his glasses at the image. “I’m not the only person in the world to be affected by gamma radiation.”

Darcy’s eyes practically bulge out of her head. “For real?”

Bruce nods. With a couple of swipes of his finger, a series of files appear on the glass screen above his work station. “This is Emil Blonsky, whom I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting. He’s in military custody.” There is film of the Hulk in a real knock-down drag-out with Blonsky’s abomination from four years ago. He keys in another file name. “There have been several reports that an underground criminal organization has coalesced power around a man going only by the name The Leader, who is rumored to have powers due to gamma radiation infection.” A second file image comes up with hazy reconnaissance pictures of a compound, and a shadowy figure wearing robes and something that resembles a huge helmet.

“Those are three, including myself. Who knows who else out there could be infected. Or, quite possibly, who will be.”

“Does gamma radiation give anyone who’s infected gnarly powers like super strength and regenerative healing?”

Bruce shakes the corner of his glasses at her; Darcy is already jumping ahead to his next point. “That’s another part of my work here that we’ll be starting soon, and I’d like your help with that. I’m going to start investigating possible cases of gamma radiation contamination around the world. There may be as few as us three, or their could be twenty or a hundred. There’s no way to know until we get into it.”

Her eyes are pinned on him, intense and giddy. “You want me to play your Nancy Drew? To be the Watson to your gamma-ray Sherlock?”

“The problem is that this might require some extra time in the lab with me, going through files, internet searches, possibly looking into doing some reconnaissance.”

“Oooh! Like P.I.s? I am so on this. I’ll totally be your Magnum Darcy!”

He winces. “Even if it means spending more time around me? I can’t guarantee you’ll have much of a social life, especially if we find out gamma infection is far more prevalent than we thought.” Bruce adds quickly. “I’ll do my best to get you out of here at a reasonable hour.”

He wonders if he’s doing this intentionally, at least just a little bit, to keep her in the lab with him. He starts to regret the whole thing, with the strong sense of guilt threatening to envelop him, to suffocate him. Whatever is going on between her and Clint Barton from last night still unsettles him. Maybe it is all in his head, because the way she gazes at his little impromptu presentation, the way she reaches for his hand as he talks about his past, the way she reaches out and touches the floating bits and pieces of what is inside of him... it feels like something is there between them.

Yet, the cold, harsh light of reality smacks him in the face and he shakes off the frivolity of his thoughts. Relationships right now are simply a bad idea. Period. She shouldn’t be with half-a-man like Bruce Banner. She should be with better. She _deserves_ better.

“Hey, Dr. B. No worries. It's cool.”

“What?” He realizes she’s been trying to get his attention the entire time. His forehead wrinkles with confusion. “What’s cool?”

“Spending more time with you, silly” She punches him lightly on the arm. “That’s, like, a bonus for me.”

“Oh. I mean, you don’t have to-”

“Dude, it’s _cool_.”

“-just because I asked. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take you away from your free time, your social life.” He looks at his lab and scratches the back of his head. “I mean, even though this is my social life right here, doesn't mean it should be yours.”

“Hello! Bruce!” This stops him, finally. She rarely uses his full name. “I’m in, all right?” She is in front of him now, and he cannot avoid her eyes, cannot look anywhere else but at her open, earnest face. “Let’s do this.”

“It could get dangerous, you know? Very likely, if any of these individuals posses half the power of the Other Guy, or Blonsky. If this Leader guy is as powerful as they say-”

“Then it’s a damn good thing I know a small, ragtag band of super-powered people myself.” Determination fills her voice. He knows instantly that she will not back down from this, and now he hates himself for even bringing it up.

“Also, there’s this one guy who I know could take them all down,” she muses. “Don’t know if you know him but he’s tall, green and has some small impulse control issues, but he knows how kick some villain tail.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

His words come out in a rush, and he blinks, shaken, exhilarated. He feels the rise of adrenaline within him, the push of the creature as he tries to break through the barriers he has erected in his mind.

Bruce turns away from Darcy, takes several deep breaths with his eyes shut, grabs onto the edge of the nearest table and hangs on for dear life. He counts down from sixty, very slowly, and there is complete silence. Although she is a boundary pusher, even though she pokes and prods and pushes in the most charming, delicious manner possible, teasing and joking with every physical act, Darcy knows when he needs to take a step back.

Now is one of those times, or he will destroy the entire lab space, possibly all of Stark Tower.

His breathing slows down, he feels his body, his mind, regaining control. The Other Guy retreats, but he can hear the low, steady growl that scratches, always scratches, at the back of his head.

“Sorry.” His voice is barely there.

“It’s okay. We all need space sometimes.”

He takes a couple of seconds before speaking again. “Look, I don’t want you to get hurt, Darcy,” he finally manages to say, with the almost-unwieldy tremor in his voice, but he is still himself, Doctor Bruce Banner. He has returned from the precipice.

“This is… this isn’t a job for someone who doesn’t have experience dealing with creatures like this. If these things figured out what we’re doing, tracking them down, investigating them, they could retaliate against us. I don’t care about what happens to me, but you-” 

“Hold up. Can we rewind this conversation for a minute?” Darcy still sounds like Darcy, but her tone and tempo are slower, slightly more muted. Less abrasive and more gentle. “One, I’ve known exactly what I’m getting into. I have ever since New Mexico, ever since I befriended this blond-haired alien who’s fond of Pop Tarts, likes throwing his hammer around, and positively _loves_ schtupping my best friend. I’ve known since sticking by my BFF, who happens to be working on Asgardian space bridges and wormholes and who has been privy to the _craziest_ shit ever. Including, but not limited to, homicidal armor that tried to blow us to smithereens.”

She steps closer, and Bruce finds himself mesmerized by her soft eyes, comforting him as he continues to look at her, staring at her long lashes, which curl like waves. He takes a breath, and the scent of her shampoo fills his nose.

_Strawberries?_

It is fruity and sweet and pretty much intoxicating.

“I’ve known about The Hulk ever since I took this job. I don’t care about that, because I saw the video of the Battle of New York. The Hulk, you, are a genuine hero. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m your friend. I _know_ you. I like you too, doofus. I know so much crazy shit, and it’s good to have another person I can share all of this crazy shit with. On top of that, you’re a goddamn brilliant genius and I envy your brain. Plus, you are 100% adorable when you get super ‘I’m-Protecting-You-By-Pushing-You-Away’ mode. So no, I’m not running away. Not now.”

She steps closer to him, taking his hands into hers. He stiffens, thinking she takes note of his discomfort, but finds the tension in his body leave as her thumbs rub circles into his palms. She never takes her eyes off of his; he’s not even sure she’s blinking.

“I’m 26, for crying out loud. I make my own decisions. And you wanna know the best way to get me not to do whatever it is you want me to do? Make rules demanding to do what you want me to do. Because I will break them. I will break them so very, _very_ hard. Do you follow?”

A small smile crosses his face, one filled not only with relief that she wants to stay of her own volition, but tinged with sadness, with regrets both small and vast, with the pain of ten years of running away from everything he has ever held dear. He still hurts, but Darcy’s words, her determination, and, yes, even her touch, make him feel better.

“I understand.” 

“Good!” She releases his hands, which cool instantly from missing her touch. “Because you totally had me at ‘investigation’. This means trench coats!”

His humor returns. His face warms with the wry grin he flashes at her. “Trench coats, you don’t say?”

“Oooh! And fedoras!”

“Your big takeaway from ‘investigate gamma radiation infection’ is fedoras?”

“ _Jaunty_ fedoras. We can’t be investigators hot on the trail of the gamma-infected without jaunty fedoras! We’ll be, like, the Magnum P.I. and the Angela Lansbury of this joint!”

Bruce rubs his face with his hands. He tries to make it look like he’s annoyed with her jokes, but his shoulders, shaking with suppressed laughter, betrays him.

“Oh come on! You know you’d rock a jaunty fedora! And suspenders.”  

“What about fancy wingtip shoes? Maybe we should ask Cap for fashion advice.”

Darcy barks out a laugh. “Let’s discuss our new P.I. wardrobes over dinner. I’m super hungry, and I think you owe me a dinner, right? As friends.”

Ah. She remembers. What the hell had he been thinking? Going to dinner, but _as friends_. Idiot.

“That I do. What do you feel like?”

She picks up her purse and restyles her hair. Bruce watches, fascinated by the way her long, thick hair tangles in her fingers as she smooths it out, the way she twists and flips it around until it’s perfectly bound. He tears his gaze away when she casts her eyes toward his direction. “I’m always game for a big breakfast-for-dinner after a hard night of binge drinking. That sound good?”

“It does.”

He shuts everything off and they walk out of the lab together, the doors sliding shut behind them.

 

 

***

 

 

They arrive at a diner, a retro-styled dive he and Tony have visited a few times. Here, they fervently discuss all things science, including, but not limited to, gamma radiation containment, gamma radiation’s potential medical benefits, Einstein-Rosen bridges, and whatever inventions Tony has designed in fits of sleepless, caffeine-fueled energy.

These conversations are what re-sparked Bruce’s interest in the potential of gamma rays, and he tells Darcy about this. Mostly because it keeps from other awkward topics entering the fold, like the fact that this is the first time he and Darcy have been out to dinner together, and he’s paying, and it feels more and more like a date, despite his intentions to ensure it remains otherwise.

She orders the fried French toast topped with maple-glazed bacon, syrup and fruit on the side (“I think it’s the craziest thing on the menu,” he admits, “but Tony loves it. Apparently he runs on 50% arc reactor, 25% coffee and 25% sugar.” Darcy giggles at the observation.) He orders an egg white omelette with sauteed vegetables and a sparkling water, his usual when he eats here. Except for the water.

“It’s a splurge,” he says when she raises an eyebrow at the Perrier.

“You and your fancypants bubbly,” she says over her coffee mug.

“What can I say? I live dangerously.”

They talk more. He finds it strange that he can joke with her, after some coaxing, about everything. Science, a little bit about his past with the military, even the Hulk. The latter is most perplexing. He’s only ever been able to joke about the Hulk with Tony, and a couple of times with Natasha. Hell, he feels himself changing just by getting more comfortable referring to his other half outright as the Hulk, and not by some vague pseudonym.

With Darcy, things seem easy. He hates that it is, but it’s true. Still, they are friends, and friends they shall remain.

It’s unfair. She forced her way into his life, and now life seems harder if she wasn’t in it.

They get their food, and he thinks that will be the end of their conversation. However, as he is with Darcy, of course it is not.

“Oh mah _gahhhh_ … Bruce, in the grand sweepstakes of My-Meal-Totally-Throws-Down-With-Your-Meal-And-Kicks-Its-Ass, I officially declare we have a winner! You _have_ to try this.” She doesn’t even wait for him to reply, but swirls a piece of the fried bread into syrup, consciously avoiding including any bits of bacon in the bite, and holds it out with her fork. Her hand is underneath to catch any wayward syrup, and she circles it in front of him.

“No thank-”

A long sigh. “Just try it!” She practically shoves it into his mouth, and before he can get annoyed, the sweetness of the toast and syrup mingle with the richness of the butter and the batter, which is fried beautifully crisp. It is delightful, leaving Bruce feeling slightly morose about his plain old omelette, which is good, but not as _out-of-the-world_  yummy as the fried dough.

“Okay. I declare your dish triumphant.”

She grins, smug and beautiful, and Bruce wishes he had never thought that.

It is not five minutes later, and three more bites of her toast, that she leaves for the ladies’ room. He sneaks a glimpse of her walking away from the table, and Bruce realizes that not since Betty has he ever had anyone feed him like that, or talk to him the way she does, or even look at him like Darcy does, or touch his hands.

He decides he really should stop thinking of Darcy that way, in any way not specifically related to casual workplace friends. However, he simply does not know how to stop at this point.

Nor does he really want to, even though it would be for the best.

 

 

***

 

 

Later that night, when Bruce falls asleep in his apartment, he dreams of fried French toast with bacon, the jauntiest of fedoras, and strawberry shampoo. When he wakes up, for the briefest moment he thinks Darcy is there with him and he smiles.

Then his face falls when he realizes he is alone.


	5. Of Cocktails and Bondage... er, Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Jane go drinking. Darcy also meets the Hulk for the first time. Also, Clint is really, totally, Darcy's bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, but the chapter is a bit longer than normal. And not much Bruce/Darcy - I really wanted a Darcy-Jane centric interlude here, and yay for the opportunity. 
> 
> Please enjoy! And thank you, again, for all the comments and kudos and everything. I'm glad people are enjoying this.

That same night, Darcy dreams, too, of jaunty fedoras, of smoke-filled offices with foggy glass doors and wooden desks, with signs that say _BANNER & LEWIS -- Investigations of Gamma Radiation since ’12. _

 

Darcy’s dreams are far more fanciful than Bruce’s, where they end with Darcy sprawled out on top of Bruce’s work desk, her trench coat and dress askew, her fedora on the floor, and her perfectly coiffed 40’s style hairdo messily tangled in Bruce’s long, delicate fingers. She smells his spicy, smoky scent, and her fingers twist through his thick curls...

 

She wakes up happy, 100% resolved to figure out a better work schedule that will accommodate her new duties in Bruce’s lab with Jane’s that day.

 

 

***

 

 

“I kind of feel like this is your graduation to the big time.” Jane pouts as she twirls the straw of her Bijou Bijou.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Foster.” Darcy glugs away at her Old Fashioned. “You’re not getting rid of me completely, you know. You even said that your new set of experiments require more of your time, and I’d probably be flipping through magazines and updating Tumblr while you toiled all day.”

 

Jane scowls at her. “I would’ve kept you busy. You’ve been indispensable to my lab.”

 

Darcy stares flatly at her while she raises her hand to flag down a waitress. “Please. I annoyed the crap outta you when I first started.” She nods at Jane’s nearly empty glass. “You want something different?”

 

“Nah.”

 

“Cool. Yo!” Darcy swirls her fingers above hers and Jane’s heads and holds up her fingers in a “two” sign. “Another!” The waitress nods and holds her thumb up. Inspired by Thor himself, Darcy and Jane has co-opted his call for more drinks. 

 

They are celebrating, or at least letting off steam, from a very tiring week in which Darcy helped Jane finish Stage II of her Tesseract energy work. This was a very difficult endeavor, since the Tesseract is presently back on Asgard and very much not on Earth.  

 

Darcy’s new job with Bruce starts on Monday. She laughs, remembering how she tried to persuade Bruce to let her come in on Saturday, because it wasn’t like he _wasn’t_ going to be there anyway.  He insisted that she take the weekend off-

 

“Go out with Jane, have fun.” He was still at his big glass screen, touching and gliding figures around to order them.  “You know we’re good for bail money if necessary.”

 

“It’s scary how well you know me now.”

 

He looks at her over his glasses. “Tell me about it.”

 

So, here she is with her BFF, at a below-the-sidewalk speakeasy joint about two walking distance blocks away from the tower. Darcy is on her third cocktail of the night, a tangy Old Fashioned, and Jane was having fun with her citrusy concoctions. They talk about work and men and The Avengers and, seriously, Darcy thinks, life is ah- _may-zang_!

 

“Thor’s training tonight?”

 

Jane nods. “I guess Cap- er, Steve wanted to practice using his shield to deflect Thor’s thunder.” She gulps again and sets her glass down, blinking in slight shock. “I can’t even believe that was a sentence I just uttered.”

 

“No kidding. The amount of _what the fuck_ that we live with right now is _un_ believable.”

 

“I think I need to make it to one of these insomnia nights at the tower,” Jane sips the last of her Bijou Bijou, and with perfect timing too, as the waitress arrives with two new sparkling drinks for both of them. Darcy accepts hers with a way-too-excited squeal and Jsane simply says, “Thank you,” with a bright grin. 

 

“Dude, you totally should! I’m surprised I hadn’t done it earlier. Except, if you do, do _not_ drink whatever Natasha’s drinking. Unless you want hair on your chest. Or,” she swirls her hand in front of her, “anywhere else on your body.”

 

“That bad?” 

 

“It will shock every cell you have, even ones you don’t know you have.” Darcy takes a long sip of her old-fashioned. “Better than Tony’s swill. You know he paid $400,000 for it?” She winces. “Tastes like buttmonkey.”

 

Jane giggles. “So, tell me about this new job.”

 

“Okay. Bruce wants to investigate any possible cases of gamma radiation infection. It’s going to be like looking for a few green, Hulk-ish needles in a haystack of several billion people. Which _fun,_ right? It might involve some travel, much time on the web.” Darcy cracks her knuckles. “Get to flex all my grey matter finally, all my mad snooping skills… what?”

 

Jane looks sad, for some inexplicable reason. “Did I not give you enough to do?” 

 

“What? Hey, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know that astrophysics and quantum theory can be a bit-”

 

“Obtuse?” Darcy offers. “Dense?”

“Well, yeah. Especially if you don’t have a background in it. Darcy,” Jane says plaintively, “I’m sorry if I didn’t give you enough to do, or if you ever felt disresp- _HIC!_ ” Jane hiccups into the back of her hand. Darcy pats her on the back, noticing how rosy the scientist’s cheeks are.

 

“You’re really making this into a thing when it’s totally not.”

 

“Darc-”

 

“ _Jane_. We’re cool, yo. Best buddies. BFF and all that.” Darcy holds up her pinky, which Jane hooks with her own and gives it a shake.  She gets the conversation back on track, trying to divert Jane long enough from awkward apologies and drunken gushing about Darcy’s awesomeness to talk about how cool it was to literally hold Bruce’s cells in her hand, how beautiful the holographs of his physiology were. 

 

They dish some more. Darcy attempts to keep herself poised as she talks about Bruce and not blush like a horny tomato. She thinks she does okay for the most part, until Jane giggles around her straw. 

 

“What?”

 

“You realize you’ve been talking about Bruce for the past half-hour, right?”

 

“Um, so?”

 

Jane waggles her finger at her. “Don’t you ‘Um, so?’ me!” She gapes and it’s all Darcy can do to not _boink_ her on the head with a candied cocktail nut. 

 

“You _like_ him!”

 

“I do not!”

 

“Oh my _God,_ you’ve been going off about how his hair would look like under a fedora for the past _ten_ minutes!” Jane flashes her a bewildered look. “By the way, why a fedora?”

 

“Long story.” Darcy decides to give up the act. She throws her skinny straw on the table.  “Okay, you called me on it. I’ve got a crush. And he’s not at all into it.” She rolls her eyes. “I totally laid all the bait out for him to take me to dinner, and he said, ‘As friends.’” 

 

“Are you sure he took the-”

 

“ _All_ the bait. I threw the sultry eye, the good boob shirt, the _great_ ass pants, all at him. Even the-” Darcy shakes her hair down, tossing half of it over her shoulder, leaving the other half draped across her eye. She gives Jane the most seductive of her looks, finally gesturing with her hands. “Nothing.”

 

“Well, to be fair, you kind of look like your having a seizure.”

 

Darcy falls back into the cushions of the booth and drinks grumpily. The ice clinks grumpily around in her glass too. Everything is just grumpy now. 

 

“He’s an immovable stone.”

 

“Maybe he’s not into women?”

“Two words. Betty. Ross.” She checks both names off with her fingers. “Although he said some weird things about Clint, about how handsome and cool he is. Kind of makes me wonder whether he’s into dudes too.”

 

“Really?  Clint, huh? He doesn’t seem his type.”

 

“I know, right? Bruce is all, ‘ _Some people think Clint’s attractive…_ ’,” Darcy says in a butch voice that is not similar to Bruce’s in the least. “As if he’s trying to tell me something.”

 

Jane replies, her finger pressed to her lip pensively, “I always thought if he went that way, he’d be doing it with Tony.”

 

“For _reals_!” Darcy shrugs and pops another cocktail nut into her mouth. “They make way more sense than Bruce crushing on Clint. Hey! Maybe Bruce and I are two bi birds of a feather! We _have_ to stick together.”

“Yeah. Or maybe he’s not really wanting a relationship.”

 

“ _Or_ at least, he doesn’t want a relationship with me. Which… _ugh_!” Darcy bangs her head, a little too hard, on their table. 

 

“Now you’re being overdramatic.” This doesn’t stop Jane from patting her comfortingly on the back. Composing herself, Darcy flings her head back up, her hands combing through her hair. 

 

“Okay, it’s not like I’m _wanting_ wanting anything super serious right now, at least. But…”

 

“But what?”

 

She looks at Jane and pushes out her bottom lip. “Darcy want some.”

 

Jane shakes her head and blinks rapidly. “I didn’t hear that.” 

 

“Oh please! I’m scarred for life after Thor said how loud you are when you’re riding that Asgardian pony.”  Jane _tsks_ warningly at her as her cheeks redden and she tries to slam a hand over Darcy’s mouth, which Darcy gracefully ducks.  “At least now I know how you can sleep so soundly at night.”

 

Flashing her another irritated look, Jane comes by her friend’s side and puts her arm around her. “Maybe he’ll come around one day. Even if he doesn’t, either way though, you’ve got him for a friend, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Darcy nods slowly. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Jane takes another sip of her drink, which turns into a _gulp,_ which almost drains the glass again.

 

“Whoa, Nellie! Slow down, Annie Oakley. That’s your third.” 

 

She loves Jane dearly, but once the girl gets going on the liquor, she doesn’t quite know when to stop. Darcy thinks it’s from years of avoiding partying too much in favor of space exploration and algorithms and whatnot. 

 

“Just so _you_ know,” Jane says, inelegantly jabbing Darcy in the chest, very nearly poking her in her boob, “you have no room to talk about how my love life can seriously jeopardize my health!” 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re _always_ going on about Thor, and me dating Thor and… and falling in love with a superhero who’s always going to be in the thick of battle and fighting some supervillian.”

 

A pit grows in Darcy’s stomach as Jane talks. She tries to ignore it by popping in a couple more nuts. “Um, yeah?”

 

“You’re always worrying about me and what if I get tangled up in Thor’s business, or Avengers business, and now look at you! Crushing on the biggest, angriest Avenger of all!”

 

Darcy gapes for a second. “You know I don’t have any issues with the Hulk-”

 

“Have you ever been around the Hulk? Have you seen Bruce Hulk out?”

 

“Have _you_?” Darcy shoots back defensively.

 

“Of course I haven’t.” Jane’s hand rests on Darcy’s arm. “But you understand that the Avengers are magnets for trouble. There will always be another villain, another threat, and-”

 

This is when Jane stops. Darcy does not fail to notice the moisture gathering in her eyes, or the crack of emotion in her voice.

 

“You never know if they’ll come back to you.”

 

This is when Darcy puts down her drink and pulls Jane into the biggest of hugs. Jane sniffles a _lot_ into her shoulder, drunkenly and sloppily, and when she pulls away, her face resembles a sad raccoon.

 

“Okay, note to self.” Darcy uses her thumb to daub the tears away from Jane’s lovely face, “next time we go out to drink, we’re making sure you wear the waterproof mascara.”

Jane laughs wetly and she wipes at her face, which smears the whole thing around. Using napkins, they are able to clean her up. Regardless, Darcy thinks, Jane’s stunning even after a good drunk cry. It’s actually inconceivable that Jane could look anything other than gorgeous.

 

“Sorry. Been holding that in for a long time,” Jane gurgles. “I know Thor’s pretty much invincible, but…”

 

“That one time in Puente Antigua.”

 

Jane nods. “I thought he was gone, before we’d even started. I felt… I don’t know.” Her arms raise and flop back down, the world’s most giant, frustrated shrug. “Half-empty? That’s when I kind of knew I’d fallen hard and fast.  And then when we couldn’t find him, when the bridge between Asgard and Earth broke… It just feels like I’ve lost so many people lately.”

 

Darcy knows the feeling. Erik is off who knows where. Neither of them know when, or if, he’ll be back. She ventures it will not be for a while, and though she knows Jane does not talk about it much, it bothers her a great deal. The man was like a father to her.

 

Jane pauses to take a chunk of her ice in her mouth. Darcy shoves a glass of water and the rest of the cocktail nuts at Jane, flagging down the waitress for more bar bites. If there’s one thing Jane needs right now, it’s food. “Guess love is a many bizarre superhero thing with us, huh?”

 

Jane grabs her by the shirt and pulls her close, their noses almost touching. “It’s horrible sometimes, it’s crazy, and right now, I wouldn’t change it for anything!”

 

Just as Darcy’s about to pat Jane on her head, the ground shakes beneath them.  Glasses on the shelf behind the bar rattle, and the lights flicker.  There are screams outside.

 

“Holy-” Jane’s grip on Darcy tightens. 

 

“What the _hell_ was that?” Darcy looks around the bar; bottles have fallen over and some have broken. The customers are in disarray, as are the mixologists and servers. “Was that an earthquake?”

 

“Don’t know. Stay here.” Darcy rushes outside, phone already in hand, calling every number at Stark Tower she can think of. Before she reaches anyone at the tower, she gets her answer. 

 

A building a few blocks away explodes in an enormous fireball, and big purple tentacles are waving in the air behind it.  Everywhere, people are screaming, running away from the giant octopus thing that is currently wreacking havoc on the streets of New York. Again.

 

Seriously, isn’t time for another city to have a turn in the _WE-ARE-SO-VERY-MUCH-UNDER-ATTACK_ lottery? This is getting so old, not to mention fatal, for any resident of Manhattan, even if the monster attacking New York resembles a very bad Saturday night movie on the SyFy Channel. 

 

Darcy bolts back inside and starts yelling at the top of her lungs.

 

“Giant squid monster is attacking the city. It’s a few blocks away from us.” She jabs her thumb toward the direction of the monster thing. “Everyone, leave calmly, away from the carnage - _that_ way!” She points to the big, red exit signs that are at the back of the speakeasy.  

 

Of course, the patrons do not get up quietly. There is chaos and a mad dash toward the neon red signs, except for Jane, who pushes her way through the mob toward Darcy. It’s amazing how fast the small scientist sobers up.

 

“What? New York’s under attack again? How? You see any signs of the team out?” 

 

Darcy shakes her head, “Not yet! But I’m sure they’ve got the alert.”

 

“To the tower?” 

 

“You read my mind.” Darcy lets the rest of the crowd through, before exiting the speakeasy.  Jane grips the sleeve of her shirt, keeping herself steady as they run quickly away from the frightening roar several blocks behind them. Concrete chunks are falling from the sky and ear-shattering screams rend the air. Darcy and Jane run like the wind back toward Stark Tower, dodging people and building parts left and right. 

 

They get as close to the front entrance as possible, right as Tony Stark, in his Iron Man suit, propels forward, right into the tentacled beast.  A crack of thunder behind them tears through the sky and surrounds the monster with undulating lightning; Thor has already entered the fray.  A crazy military-looking jet takes off from the top of Stark Tower at the same time; Darcy can only assume that’s Natasha, Clint, and possibly Steve are heading into battle.  

 

The entrance to Stark Tower opens. It’s Bruce. He runs to them.

 

“What the hell are you doing in the street? Get inside now!” His voice is bordering on frantic, almost angry. She realizes that he’s going to Hulk out, to join the rest of his team. 

 

“That’s what we’re trying to do.” Darcy stops in front of him, with Jane at her back. The drunken conversation with Jane floods back into Darcy’s mind the moment she sees his face. Sure, he’s fought alien invaders, one Asgardian douchebag trickster god, and the US military, but that was before Darcy met Bruce, before she got to know his face, heard his voice, made him laugh.

 

She realizes that this could be the creature that manages to kill the Hulk, that this moment could be Bruce’s last.  The thought squeezes her heart, stops her breath, and suddenly, she’s the one who can’t stop crying.

 

“Darcy, get to safety. Please! You can’t be out here while the city’s falling apart!”

 

She won’t let him run off into another battle without something from her, something that will tell him just how fucking awesome, goddamn amazing he is.

 

Just how much he means to her. 

 

She swallows and, impulsively, grabs his shoulders, pulls him to her, and kisses him. 

 

She manages to miss his lips, but only barely; she lands right on the left corner of his mouth, a little on his cheek. She corrects her course, her hands on either side of his face, in case he’s looking for an excuse to run away, and her lips are on his.  

 

She is terrified that she has trampled over an invisible line that’s been dancing around them for about a month now, but to hell with it. New York is falling apart again, and if she didn’t kiss him right at that moment before watching him run into battle, she would fall apart too. Darcy continues wondering just what the hell she is doing, when his hands are on her face, cupping her cheek, and the kiss is electrifying. She hopes it’s as good for him as it is for her, as she feels a jolt that rocks her to her chest; her tummy flips and flops and _OH MY GOD!_  

 

She just kissed him! And he’s kissing her back!

 

What the hell? 

 

Darcy finally pulls away. “Be careful please, Bruce.”

 

Bruce stares, blinking as if he cannot fathom what they just did. “I… Don’t worry about me.  Please,” his voice is softer now. “Go inside. Now. I… don’t want you here when the Other Guy comes out.”

 

Pausing for only a moment, just long enough to allow herself to soak his worried, pleading face in, Darcy runs right into a gaping Jane, who yanks on her arm toward the alcove of the tower’s entrance. 

 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. it’s us!” Darcy yells. “Open up!”

 

The computer’s voice sounds loud and clear, despite the horrific roaring behind them. The doors to Stark Tower slide apart. “You and Dr. Foster have will have access to the safe rooms on Level B. It is recommended you remain there until the Avengers return.”

 

“Got it!”

 

“Darcy!” 

 

She turns at the sound of Jane’s voice, just in time to see Bruce’s shirt split open, and his back explode from his normal pale skin to a violent shade of green. He grows, keeps growing… he expands in a way that makes Darcy stunned and slightly sickened to watch. She wishes that the nausea brewing in her stomach had anything to do with the alcohol she just consumed, but she knows it’s not.

 

Yet, she cannot turn away. Her hand comes to her mouth, and she is crying, whether from shock or fear or sadness, she cannot say.

 

“Oh my God.”

 

He blows up, huge, monsterous. Everything on him gets bigger and bigger.  Bruce throws his head back and his voice shifts from a human-like scream to a deafening roar that reminds her of a time when she went to the natural history museum with her parents when she was six and watched a movie about Tyrannosaurus Rex. The unearthly, horrific roar from the dinosaur scared her so much she peed herself.

 

His roar, the _Hulk’s_ roar, gives her the same chills, the similar impulse that she might just piss herself here and now.  She is left breathless at the transformation. She is also, she is not afraid to admit, a little scared. Okay… more like _a lot_ scared.

 

He is pure, unadulterated anger. His Hulk bellow jostles her brain and for the first time since she has known Bruce Banner, all of his warnings about him, about getting too close, about not wanting her to be hurt, all flood into her memory’s landscape and she _understands._ She hates that she does, but she cannot help it.

 

She is afraid. 

 

Bruce, now very much physically the Hulk, seems to be slightly disoriented from his change, which makes him unpredictable. The big guy turns and looks over his shoulder and, to Darcy’s shock, stares right at her.  His eyes, she notes, are still Bruce, and this alarms her. She’s not entirely sure what she sees in his eyes, but there is an almost palpable pain there.  And then, he swiftly turns around and jumps toward the burning buildings several blocks away.

 

Darcy stands there, watching him, not knowing what just transpired between her and Bruce… No. Between her and the Hulk. Did he recognize her? Did she look scared? Nauseous?  Can her feelings even be defined at this point?  

 

She is in shock, and it’s only when Jane screams her name for the twentieth time that she finds her legs and finally moves inside into the safety of Stark Tower.

 

 

 

***

 

 

The Avengers are back a few hours after the battle with the giant squidoctopus thing having been won. They managed to keep the damage contained within a smaller radius than the Chitauri attack. Not that it isn’t bad, but it could’ve been horrifically worse.

 

J.A.R.V.I.S. gives the women the all-clear about five hours later, when clean-up in the city is well underway, led by Thor and Captain America.  Darcy doesn’t wait to see anyone, doesn’t feel the urge to talk to anyone, except for Jane (“Holy shit! You kissed him!” “And then he changed!” “I know! I _know_!” and on it went for a couple of hours until they focused solely on the news feed of the battle).  She wakes up in bed the next morning, wondering if Bruce is nearby. 

 

She has to find him, to talk about what happened. She also dreads what he will say to her once they see each other again.  

 

She kissed him. On lips, fully. A kiss. Skin-to-skin contact. Then Bruce Hulked out, and she freaked.

 

God _dammit,_ she freaked out! Darcy thought she could play it cool the first time she meets the Hulk; instead, the exact opposite happens. Hypocrite, thy name is Darcy Lewis.  

 

She is afraid she has ruined this before it has even begun. 

 

The reverberating snores coming out of Jane’s room tells Darcy that Thor is in there as well, fast asleep.  How the hell she has learned to sleep through Asgardian snoring she has zero idea; maybe Tony made sure all the walls here were soundproof.  She steps out of her apartment, she resolves to seek out Bruce, for better or worse. 

  

“Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S., is Bruce in the building?”

“Not at the moment, Miss Lewis. It appears Dr. Banner didn’t return with the rest of the team. Shall I inquire as to his whereabouts?”

 

Dejected, Darcy pouts and glumly kicks the wall. “Nah. S’all good.”

 

“If you do not mind, these walls are not scuff-proof.”

 

“Oh,” she says sheepishly. “My bad.”

 

“Thank you. If you feel the need to release any tension or energy, the gym is one floor up. Sir and Mister Rogers are working out right now.”

 

“Thanks for the tip.” She makes her way down to the main kitchen, only to find it currently occupied.  Clint and Natasha are in. Clint, in a brown shirt/black cargo pants ensemble, fiddles with the coffee maker as Natasha, wearing black pants and jacket over a blazing scarlet tank, digs around in the fridge.  

 

“Whaddap?”

 

Clint looks up first. In a voice not dissimilar from a game show announcer, he intones, “Good morning, Darcy Lewis.” 

 

Natasha says nothing, only shuts the refrigerator with her foot and stares at Darcy, her arms loaded down with a large plate filled with eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and leafy greens.  She moves like a dancer. With lethal grace, she lays everything on the counter without so much as spilling a drop.

 

Darcy picks up an apple from the fruit bowl and shines it on the sleeve of her night shirt - which is actually the same shirt she wore yesterday. “So… on a scale of one to _What-The-Everloving-Fuck?_ how would you rate kicking that giant squid thing’s fishy ass?” She takes a crunchy bite, letting her jaw lazily smack. 

 

Clint bobs his head appraisingly. “Well, considering it’s competing with aliens on flying sleds hitching a ride on gigantic mecha-worms, it wasn’t really all that weird.” He shrugs, miming brushing off his shoulder. “Kind of dull, to be honest.”

 

“So jaded so fast,” she replies with a grin. Natasha, still not talking, smirks.

 

Darcy sits back and watches the S.H.I.E.L.D. (former S.H.I.E.L.D.?) agents dance around the kitchen, maneuvering around each other. She can see how well-practiced they are, the familiarity they have of the other’s body, the precision evident in every move even with something as mundane as breakfast. Natasha tosses Clint tomatoes from across the room and he catches them, his grasp light and nimble. She holds out her hand and he throws her a cheese grater, and then a knife. They spin around like a carnival act, and Darcy’s mouth falls open as she watches Natasha catch each one in both hands.  It takes Darcy a few moments to realize they are making breakfast. Omelets, to be precise. Clint flips the omelet with all the skill of a professional chef.  Darcy contemplates a cooking show where Clint and Natasha construct delicious brunch plates while killing bad guys and/or aliens with their spatulas. Title would be  _KILLER BRUNCH! With Clint and Natasha._ People would be too scared  _not_  to watch.

 

“You guys ever think about opening your own Benihana?” she inquires, mouth full of apple. Clint snorts, while Natasha glares at her over her shoulder, knife chopping away at some fruit. 

 

After watching them chop and cook for a while, Darcy, her curiosity getting the better of her finally, albeit casually, asks. “Is Bruce back at S.H.I.E.L.D. then?”

 

“He is, last I checked.” Natasha replies.  “It’s highly unusual for Bruce to stay at headquarters overnight though, given his history with S.H.I.E.L.D. I know Tony set up an area here for him to safely come down post-transformation.”

 

Darcy feels her stomach twist into knots. Swallowing her apple has suddenly become very difficult. “So, what you’re saying is that he _could’ve_ come back to the tower, but chose _not_ to instead?”

 

Natasha shrugs and chops up some fruit while Clint plates their omelets. “I do not presume to know what goes on in his mind. Especially after he transforms.”

 

This is not what she wants to hear. In her mind, she jumps to the conclusion that Bruce’s absence is directly related to what transpired between them before he joined the battle.  

 

“Well… _crap_.” She feels herself choking out the words. “I don’t get why he wouldn’t be back by now.” Although she totally does and she’s starting to feel kind of sick, especially if she had anything to do with it. If he’s avoiding her… 

 

“Is he likely to come back to the tower soon? Like today?”

 

“You seem awfully curious about the good doctor’s whereabouts.” Clint plunks down in the seat across from her, two plates in hand. He shoves one in front of Darcy without asking, following that with a steaming cup of coffee. He quickly brings over cream and sugar.

 

“In case you don’t take your coffee like I do,” he says.

 

“Which is?”

 

“Burnt.” He takes a long sweltering drink from his mug and Darcy thinks her tongue’s burning just watching him down the hot liquid. 

 

She avoids his question about Bruce, and instead stares at her plate. “I didn’t say I wanted breakfast.”

 

“I make killer omelets.” He sharply taps her plate with his knife. “Eat. You won’t regret it.”

 

She takes a bite and - _wow_! “You weren’t joking, dude. Color me impressed.”

 

Natasha brings hers over, plus the bowl of fresh fruit for all of them to share. “This is our tradition. We fight. We kick much ass. Clint makes delicious things for us to eat.” The Black Widow takes delicate bites of her eggs and delicate drinks from her water bottle, all of which makes Darcy feel she looks like a horse when she eats.

 

After a beat, Clint adds.  “I usually make enough for three. Which is why you get the lucky extra.”

 

“Why three?” Darcy says, but when she looks up, she’s staring into the death glare of Natasha and the softer, sadder gaze of Clint’s. That’s when she realizes he made more food because of Agent Coulson. 

 

Damn. She really needs to learn a little tact.  

 

After another beat, the moment passes and Clint, after wiping his nose with the back of his arm, starts talking again. “So, this little preoccupation you have with the doctor-” 

 

Darcy jabs her fork toward Clint. “Tread lightly, William Tell.” 

 

Clint whistles. “William Tell. That’s a deep cut.” He laughs appreciatively. “Normally, I get the ‘Robin-Hood-Cupid-Legolas’ trifecta, mostly from Stark. I like William Tell.”

 

Despite her annoyance at him persisting with the Bruce talk, Darcy snickers. “I aim to impress.”

 

“Returning to Bruce…” She hisses at Clint, but of course he doesn’t shut up. “It is funny that you want to talk about him though.” He taps the tip of his knife to his chin.  “ _Doubly_ funny, as he’s been talking you up, at least to me.”

 

Her fork clatters to her plate. “What? When? I have to know!”

 

Clint laughs, and Natasha lets loose a close-lipped chuckle, which is a frightening, _frightening_ thing. They look at each other, eyes passing in some sort of silent communication between themselves, which is even scarier. 

 

“He’s been trying to slip your name in whenever we talk.” Clint takes a drink of his coffee. “He thinks I should ask you out or something.”

 

Darcy covers her mouth, stopping her from spitting water every which where. “He wha’ the _what_?”

 

“Ask - you - _out._  Like, ‘You know, Darcy Lewis is a really nice girl. You two would get along very well. You should ask her out on a date sometime.’”  

 

She has zero idea what to say to this, which is probably why she garbles something like, “What in the actual fuck?” and her face feels like it's about to go full supernova. Clint is outright laughing into his fist. Natasha is clearly listening in, her right eyebrow is raised in perpetual amused judgment. “So, how ‘bout it, Lewis? Wanna go out?” He rests his head on his fist and bats his eyes at her. 

 

“Jesus, no!” 

 

He mocks pouting as he pushes his bottom lip toward her. “I am sincerely hurt.” Natasha rolls her eyes at him.

 

Darcy splutters. “I mean, like, no offense, but what the hell? I never told Bruce anything about _anything_ involving you or any thoughts I might have about you, which are none! Zero! Zilch! Where the hell did he get any ideas that we should go out?”

 

“I do not know.” There is a horrific glimmer in Clint’s eyes; he’s milking this for all it’s worth. 

 

“As I said earlier, I presume no knowledge of what goes on in Bruce Banner’s mind,” Natasha begins, “but there could be an underlying motive to this.” She drawls this out, casually. “Or maybe he wants to make sure you have fun. Clint is… _fun_.” She finishes, sarcasm dripping in her voice, and Clint blows her a kiss. Natasha shuts her eyes, in a way that Darcy can only surmise she counting backwards from 100 to keep herself from decapitating him.

 

“W-well… I’m stumped. I-I mean, no, I’m actually not. Well, there was this thing…” She trips and falls over her words, and Clint, ever the observant one, leans forward. 

 

“Go on.” He swirls his hand around to encourage her to speak. Natasha stares at her; curiosity has clearly gotten the better of her as well.

 

“Um, so, like… yesterday, right before Bruce ran off to go all Hulk Smash-y on the squid monster, I sort of… kissed him?” 

 

She does not mean to make it sound like a question, but it comes out exactly like a question. She could’ve dropped a pin five floors up and it’d still be crystal clear down here in the kitchen, it is so very, _very_ quiet. 

 

“Say what?” Natasha’s eyebrows fly into her hairline.

 

“Yeah, I kind of kissed him. And I kind of _totally_ freaked on him because I saw him transform. And, well… before all of that, I tried baiting him to take me out on a date.”

 

Still silence from the peanut gallery.  Natasha and Clint just stare at her, then at each other.

 

“Um, so, that’s that. You think any of that could be behind this somehow?”

 

Clint slaps his wrist on the kitchen island, making their dishes and fruit bowl bounce. “Oh I’d say all of that is, yeah.”

 

Darcy tosses her fork on her plate, her appetite totally gone. 

 

“That being said,” he continues, “let’s get back to the part where you _kissed_ Bruce Banner. That requires,” he says, slicing a huge piece of omelet, “much discussion.”

 

Natasha nudges him in the arm. “You are such a gossip.”

 

“What? She kisses Banner, and you’d deny me the pleasure of teasing the shit outta her? You’re absolutely _zero_ fun.” Turning back to Darcy, Clint says, mildly, “So, it’s Banner that’s got you all hot and bothered?” 

 

She opens her mouth to say something snarky in reply, instead closes it and shakes her head. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

 

“How did you feel when you saw him transform?”

 

Natasha asks the question without a hint of humor. Her face is steady, impassive. The shift makes Darcy squirm uncomfortably, as it finally forces her to face her feelings about the transformation.

 

“It was like nothing I had ever seen before. His skin...” She tries to steady her voice as she can hear it shake. When her voice starts to shake, it either means she’s scared beyond her wits or she’s about to cry. She does not want to cry, not in front of these two.  “His body tore apart. It changed right before my eyes, it was so… _green_. I could see the bones in his body growing, pushing out, and, and his voice changed. It wasn’t human.  It was all… animal.” She turns widened eyes up to Natasha and Clint. “I wasn’t ever scared of Bruce before. I’m not even scared of the Hulk when I see him on the news. I was _so_ scared of him in that moment. I wanted to go inside, to look away. I don’t think Bruce wanted me to see him change. And yet, I couldn’t _not_ watch.”

 

Natasha nods as she takes another drink of her water. It’s a long time before she replies. 

 

“Watching Bruce transform is terrifying.” She spears a piece of kiwi with her fork. “It’s a good thing that you witnessed him voluntarily change. He retains some semblance of control when he allows the Hulk out, very much unlike when the Hulk takes over the transformation.” 

 

“ _That_ was Bruce in control of the Hulk?” Darcy asks, stunned. Natasha nods solemnly.  

 

“Do you think it hurts him? The transformation?” The tremor in Darcy’s voice returns, and she can feel herself on the verge of tears; the thought of Bruce in pain...

 

Natasha shrugs, shaking her head.  “I have no way of knowing. I’ve never asked Bruce. It did appear to me, when I saw him become the Hulk the first time, that…” She swallows, searching for the right words. “It appeared to me that it was agony for him.”

 

Darcy pinches the corners of her eyes, hoping the pads of her fingers sop up any burgeoning tears. 

 

“You saw him transform?” 

 

“The first time, on the Helicarrier, right after-”

 

There is a cough. “I blew it up.”  Clint stares at a point beyond Darcy’s head, his jaw tight. He shakes his head and Natasha grips his tightened fist, squeezing it in her own, her knuckles turning white, yet she refuses to let go.

 

Darcy sees now that all of them, not just Bruce, come with enough baggage to fill Stark Tower twice over. There are jokes and banter, but the pain exists. It is deep, it is real, and she lives with them in the thick of it. It binds them all together into one crazy, dysfunctional family unit; every action, every reaction drips with the need for clarity, for redemption, for some greater truth or meaning for each of them. 

 

Her heart swells for these people and she realizes, at some point, they really have become her friends. What the hell is her life right now? 

 

Clint says nothing more. He does not make eye contact with Darcy or Natasha. He simply sits, his gaze falling to his now empty plate, blinking every once in a while, jaw flexing tighter and tighter. 

 

“He became an animal,” Natasha continues, her hand still firmly gripping Clint’s. “He did not recognize me. There was no Bruce Banner; there was only the beast.  I’m certain he would’ve killed me had Thor not taken over the fight.”

 

How the hell can she respond to that? Darcy says nothing, the image of Bruce - the Hulk - in a full-on murdering rampage, killing Natasha Romanoff, churns her stomach.

 

“There are a few things I have seen, in my line of work, that have truly frightened me. Watching Bruce Banner become the Hulk is one of them.” Natasha lowers her eyes, staring hard at Darcy. “It is very, _very_ near the top of that list.”

 

Natasha’s words sink in Darcy’s head, and a pit grows in her chest. She meets Natasha’s gaze. “After he turned, _physically_ , he saw me standing behind him, then he jumped away to the fight.” She finds a groove in the big butcher’s block of the kitchen island and she starts scratching away at it, feeling nervous, ashamed at herself for letting her worst fears manifest so painfully.  “All I could think about is how horrifying it was to watch his body break as the Hulk came out.” She looks at both agents. “I told Bruce that I knew what I was getting into. That I’m cool with the Hulk, that it didn’t matter to me, that the Hulk is a hero as far as I was concerned. I said that only a few days ago. Now, I’m thinking I fucked up. Bad.”

 

It is Clint who responds this time, breaking out of his trance to do so as Natasha releases her grip on him. “We all fuck up sometimes. It’s how we respond afterwards counts.”

 

“Does witnessing the transformation change your feelings for Bruce himself?” Natasha asks the question, and isn’t that worth a million dollars? Darcy finds she cannot answer it, at least not right away.  

 

She’s not sure what, if anything, has changed. She feels Bruce Banner is still the same sweet, compassionate, and gentle soul that he has always been. It is her feelings about the Hulk that are far more complicated. A voice in her head screams out that the Hulk is a monster. Then a second voice, this one calmer and more rational, whispers softly that he is not, or else he probably would’ve torn Darcy and Jane apart right on the spot. 

 

However, she cannot discount what Natasha said about the Hulk. He could’ve killed her on the helicarrier. It is very likely the Hulk has killed people before, and is possibly capable of monstrous acts.  When Bruce isn’t in control, there is no telling what the Hulk is capable of. For God’s sake, he frightened The Black Widow! 

 

What hope does Darcy have to stop being afraid of him?  That’s when she realizes that she _wants_ to not be afraid of the Hulk. She wants to trust the Hulk as much as she trusts Bruce.  

 

“It doesn’t change what I think about Bruce at all. As to the Hulk, I don’t know. It’s not like I can simply say he doesn’t matter, because he totally does.” She folds her hands in front of her and rests them on the counter.  “But it’ll take some work, right? To get to the point where I don’t feel like I’m going to shit myself when the Hulk makes an appearance.” 

 

Tapping her fingers on the counter, Darcy nods with resolve. She stands, puts away her empty dish, and opens the refrigerator and pantry, assessing what they had in the house for baking. It isn’t much. She’ll have to go to the store-

 

“Looking for anything?”

 

“Can’t talk,” she replies to Clint. “Got to bake.” She shuts the fridge door. 

 

“Bake?” 

 

She nods. “Whenever I’ve got stuff to think about, I bake. It’s just a thing. I have to pick up some stuff from the store. You guys need anything.”

 

Clint continues smirking at her, but shakes his head. Natasha does not even move, but peers at her in unnerving fashion. 

 

“Okay then.” She jogs back to her apartment, remembering Jane is still sleeping, and with Thor too. Well, Darcy thinks, Jane really needs to get up and start the day. What better way to do so than a trip to the nearest Whole Foods to be Darcy’s sounding board?  Thor could come along; maybe he could suggest some wicked Asgardian magic thingamabob that’d make all of this suddenly better.

 


	6. Of Kissing and New Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Bruce reach an understanding. Tony give relationship advice. And pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for all the comments and support for the story. I really appreciate it.

When he finally returns to Stark Tower two days later, he does not seek anyone’s company. He asks J.A.R.V.I.S. for the best route to his lab to avoid seeing any familiar faces. 

He resolves to spend the rest of the week in his lab or his apartment. Alone. He tells J.A.R.V.I.S. that he wants no interruptions, wants no one to know where he is. 

“Just… tell them I’m away, please.”

“Certainly, Dr. Banner.”

This is what he’s used to, he tells himself. It is better this way.

 

***

 

This resolve is tested exactly an hour after he returns. 

“Dr.Banner.”  

Bruce sighs. “Yes, J.A.R.V.I.S.” He is certain he knows what, or perhaps who, is coming. 

“My apologies for disturbing you, Doctor, but although I have informed Miss Lewis that you are unavailable, she insists that she see you.”

“I see.” Bruce continues flipping through the files in front of him on the monitor. There is so much to go through and organize, not surprisingly. Gamma radiation infection leaves behind a trace signal, not unlike the Tesseract. However, not as strong. He has to refine his algorithms, engage Stark Industries’ spectrometers, calibrated to the precise frequency of gamma rays waves, and pour through records, articles, anything that might indicate gamma infection in a person, or even a small population cluster. It is trying work. Obviously he needs an assistant, but he has already mucked that up but good. 

Except for the part where said assistant appears not to have gotten the memo, that she should keep her distance.

J.A.R.V.I.S. continues. “Although Mr. Stark has reinforced my mainframe to withstand any potential threats, viruses, or any other conceivable intrusions, Miss Lewis is currently threatening to use her Taser on me unless I allow her entry.” 

Bruce puts down his tablet, folds his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Well, of course she is.”  

“While I am certain she will not cause any damage to my programming, she may injure herself, and I wish for no such occurrence.”

“Neither to do I, J.A.R.V.I.S. Please, let her in.” Might as well get this over with, he tells himself.  He is calm and resolved, though, in what he has to do. In what he has to tell her.

He finds that his determination wavers when he sees her, with a black skirt-white shirt-black sweater ensemble that shows off her wonderful, luscious curves,  with her hair loose in long waves, with her lips as red as her shirt. It has been a couple of days, at least, since he last saw her, since their kiss. His heart skips at the memory.  

He remembers, however, that she also witnessed him transform. He saw the pain, the fear, the _revulsion_ plain on her transparent face. No matter what she said before that she was, _is,_ Bruce’s friend and that the Hulk doesn’t matter, he clearly does. He was a fool to even consider that it wouldn’t matter. Darcy was far too naive to say otherwise.

Yet it guts him that he will have this talk with her looking like she does right now. Already, he can smell the sweet, fruity scent of her shampoo, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from sinking his fingers in her hair as he kisses her, smearing her red lipstick over both of their faces. 

She bounces into his lab, her dark-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose. Every step is light, even though she is carrying a saran wrap-covered plate. The plate is loaded down with various muffins, visibly heavy by the way she hefts it in both arms. He stares at the baked goods; his stomach rumbles, an audible reminder that he has, yet again, neglected breakfast in favor of starting on his arduous research.

“Good morning, Darcy.” He keeps his tone even, cool. She seems not to notice. 

“Hey Bruce,” she says. He ignores, or, at least, does a great job pretending to ignore, the fact that she calls him Bruce. It is too formal, especially for her. Darcy takes formalities and stomps all over them. “So, fought any crazy-assed octopus monsters lately?”  Her voice sounds cheerful, but forced, as if she is convincing herself that everything is okay, when it clearly is not.

He fights the impulse to grin; he needs to keep this serious, straightforward, business-like. Darcy should readily accept what he has to say. 

Well, _should_ is the operative word.

“About that-”

“Yeah, we should talk, shouldn’t we?” Darcy sighs and puts the plate down, lifting up a corner of the saran wrap. “Muffin?”

“Darcy-” Bruce begins. He shakes his head, his hand extended.

“Look, I know you haven’t eaten yet-”

“No.” He speaks firmly, and re-covers the pastries. Darcy backs down. She doesn’t fight him about eating like she normally would. He feels something break inside of him that she doesn’t push him more. 

Bruce clears his throat, his left hand worrying his right’s knuckles. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Darcy interjects, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “I know that it’s been a really crazy couple of days. I know you probably didn’t appreciate me kissing you-”

“What? No! No, Darcy, it’s not about that.” He lies, because it’s obviously all about that, as well as all about the Other Guy. 

Darcy smiles at this, cat-like, sexy. It is as if she's cornered her prey and is taking her time, toying and teasing him. “So, you _did_ appreciate me kissing you?” She advances toward him. Although Bruce can feel the pull to her, his nearly all-consuming _want_ , he continues to fight it. He is good at that; he's had plenty of practice.

“It’s not about whether I appreciated… Darcy,” he says, taking a breath. He starts over. “This is giving me, actually giving both of us, a reality check. This situation, you working for me, wasn’t going to last. Given the circumstances,” he draws a sharp intake of breath, “given that I think there was some short-sightedness when you accepted the offer to work in my lab, and recent circumstances being what they are, it’s really for the best." 

Darcy, whose mouth is open through his entire speech, promptly presses her lips shut. The once cat-like smile flattens. Her stare hardens, and her forehead between her brows knit in a single line. She looks angry. “Is it?” Her voice is thin, stretched over pins and needles and nerves that are frayed into a million pieces. Bruce knows that tone well; he sounds like that when he holds the big guy back. 

“Both of us were naive about what to expect at your first meeting with the Hulk.” Bruce sit-leans against a counter, folding his arms so he doesn’t keep rubbing his knuckles until bone pops out. “I do remember the look on your face, Darcy.  I don’t think you fully understood what it means to be with me.” 

He keeps thinking about that kiss, not wanting to bring it up but unable to get it out of his head. It makes staying focused on the job-related part of their conversation difficult; where he intends to say “work,” he says something else entirely, something far more intimate.  

“To work with me, I mean,” he corrects himself. “What happened Friday brings all of that back to reality.”

It is her turn to cross her arms, to stare at him with cold eyes that remind him frighteningly of Natasha. “Just because you’re an expert on gamma radiation doesn’t mean you’re also an expert on what goes on in my head.”

“Darcy, it’s not… it’s for your own good.” He can already feel his determination faltering. “The fear, the revulsion on your face after I transformed, _that_ is the reality. Now you know, and you didn’t like it.” He gulps. “No matter what came before.” 

Darcy’s gaze fill with fire. Her nostrils flare, and Bruce is almost convinced she might try to punch him.  Instead, she huffs. “Oh… fuck it all!”

She grabs his face and smashes their lips together. 

Bruce stiffens, surprised, alarmed that she would do such a thing.  And then... he’s not fighting it. He’s melting into her touch, falling into her arms as they wrap around him, his own hands smoothing down her sides, resting on her hips, squeezing them gently, controlled. He traces the curve of her jaw with his fingers as his lips nip at hers. He withdraws quickly, realizing what they just did.

“Darcy… dammit.” He nearly falls backwards, except there’s a table there to catch him. He stumbles against it, running his hand through his hair. It takes him a moment to adjust, to focus on what’s in front of him, which is Darcy, her fingers pressed against her red-smeared mouth. 

“So… that happened.”

She speaks and he’s jealous that she can talk and sound perfectly normal. 

“D-Darcy… I… that wasn’t-”

“A good idea. Yeah, I _knew_ you were going to say that too. I’m batting a thousand today with the whole ‘Predict-What-Banner-Will-Say-Next’ thing. And I’d believe you, except for the part where you totally kissed me back. So there was _some_ of you that thought it was a great idea. A fantastic idea, probably.”  Her eyes brazenly fall down the length of his body. He almost crosses his legs as a reflex.

“Darcy! That’s… I don’t want to hurt you. And… and _this_ , whatever you think this is, you don’t know what you’re getting into. You’re too young, a-and naive to really have thought about what getting involved with me actually means-”  

“ _No_. Do _not_ go there,” she says, her voice a warning, low and hushed. She stalks toward him, visibly, if calmly, livid. “You have no idea what I’m thinking, okay? I don’t do well with being told what to do, and I _especially_ do _not_ do well with this outdated, patriarchal bullshit that I am somehow incapable of looking out for my own goddamn self!” Her words increase with volume, her anger levels rising alarmingly for Bruce. “In case you missed it, I have a pretty _fucking_ good idea of what I’m getting into. If you ever want to fire me because you don’t like the way I do things in the lab, or the quality of my work’s slipping, fine. I won’t fight you. But if you want to fire me for any Hulk-related reasons, then no. Sorry. That don’t fly in this dojo, and I am _this close_ to telling you to go-”

Darcy takes a breath, shuts her eyes. She mouths a countdown, silently and with her eyes shut, and it is like looking at himself in the mirror when he’s quelling the Other Guy’s need for release.

He realizes he has already lost. Putting his hands up in retreat, Bruce himself takes two breaths. 

“Okay… okay. I...” His smile stumbles across his face as he struggles to come up with anything artful to say. “I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, with… how did you put it? ‘Outdated patriarchal bullshit’.” 

She is still breathing heavily as he extends one hand forward, nervous and shaky. 

“Truce?” 

She does nothing for a moment, then her entire body relaxes. Her face softens and she is Darcy again, sweet, loud, stubborn and hilarious. A smile slowly winds across her face. She laughs 

“Wow, I’m not even sure where that came from.” She shakes his hand, and he tries to control the small jerk, that instinctual pullaway that jolts through his body the minute anyone touches him. He’s gotten much better, but yeah. It’s still there.

“Here I thought I was the one with anger management issues.”

Darcy squeezes his arm, playfully, teasingly. He labors to steady himself under her touch.  “You know," she says, "I’ll be the first to admit, the Hulk freaked me out. Pretty sure I pissed myself when he roared.”

“I don’t think I can say anything to that other than I’m sorry.”  

She closes the gap between them, her hand carding through his hair. The touch is nice. Really, it’s way better than nice. It is sensational, and Bruce wants to revel in it. He also wants to run away, to flee as far as he can from her temptation. He needs to go back to the cold comfort of aloneness, the safe familiarity of an existence surrounded by no one but himself. 

He knows she senses it, because she rests her other hand on his arm. Suddenly, that flight-or-flight response he has to anything intimate disappears. 

“Don’t be sorry. It was, like, his… _your_ battle cry.” Darcy smiles at him, and her hand migrates to his cheek. Her palm is warm and soothing, and he resists the urge to lean into her hand, until he can’t any longer and he lets his head tilt into it. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. I was. Freaked out as all hell! I spent all weekend planning and preparing exactly what I wanted to say to you when I saw you today.” 

“I’m afraid to ask, but were you able to say everything you needed to?”

She giggles. “I was going to say it with about ninety percent less shouting, but I think I got my point across, regardless.” Darcy pauses. “I wasn’t prepared to watch you transform.”

“Yeah. I don’t think anyone is,” Bruce admits. “I’m still not, even when I let him out.”

Darcy nods then leans forward so their heads are almost touching. She speaks in a soft, nearly unrecognizable voice. “Does it hurt?”

He knows exactly what she means without any further elaboration. She looks at him, her eyes wide, serious. “Be honest with me. Does it hurt?”

In this, Bruce is honest.  “It’s excruciating. At least when I let him out, I expect the pain, so I’m prepared to handle it.”

She sucks in breath and tightens her lips, as if the answer wounds her as well. “It looked like you were in pain. Massive pain.”  She brings both hands to his chest, lightly resting them on his shirt.  “Yet, you still do it and fight with the team.”

She keeps her gaze steady. It penetrates him, makes him nervous. He doesn’t like feeling nervous, yet there is something about their proximity, about standing so close to Darcy that he can count every eyelash, smell the faint traces of berries and fruit and spice from her baking. 

It is inexplicably calming. He wants to leave, yet he cannot. 

“I’m fairly sure it doesn’t hurt Capt- Steve when he wears his uniform. Or Thor, or Tony.”  She brushes her hand through a clump of hair resting on his forehead. “But it hurts you when you become the Hulk, and yet, here you are. An Avenger. Saving the world from aliens, giant robot worms and one crazy squidoctopus. That’s pretty amazing, B.”

He shrugs. “It’s a small price.”

“Bruce-”

“You didn’t know me back then, back when I was working for the Army. Back even further than that,” he says, his voice low, but cutting. Her eyes are open, but he has to make sure she knows who he is, what the Hulk is capable of. “The Hulk doesn’t just come from nothing. He is, for better or worse, the darkest part of me. All the crap, all the emotional baggage from when I was just a kid up to now; it’s all stuff about me that I never wanted anyone to know. And some of it is real heavy. A lot of it is ugly.”

She bites her lip and her eyes search his face, finally meeting his hardened gaze. Darcy raises her hands and he feels her fingers glidie over his cheek, sending tingles up his spine, heat down below. He hates that his body and heart appear to be rebelling over what his brain wants to do.  

“I get that,” she says. “I’m not asking for a taxicab confession or anything. I want to get to know you better, yeah. Maybe, hopefully, you get comfortable enough to start telling me things.”  

“And what if you don’t like what you hear?”

“I’m a big girl, Bruce.” Her voice, this time, does not waiver. If she is pretending to be fearless, she’s doing a damn fine job, Bruce thinks. It still doesn’t convince him, but he’s already learned it’s no use telling Darcy Lewis what she should be afraid of, that she should be afraid of him. “I can listen to whatever you want to tell me. Just like I’m sure you’ll listen to whatever I want to tell you.  Look, I’ll start by telling you more about me, like… All right. I’ve dated, officially, two girls in college.”

His tension gives way to surprise. He smiles. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“So, you’re…”

“Open-minded and looking for love wherever it’ll take me,” she says, with a glint in her dark eyes. “Yeah. Here’s another one; when I got back from visiting my awesome Nana after her surgery, I caught my boyfriend cheating on me with his ex.”  

Bruce winces. “That’s awful.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, her laughter at the memory tinged with bitterness.  “Consider that my offering to you.”

“Um, okay.” He licks his lips, deciding that since Darcy shared with him, he’d share something with her. “I was bullied a lot in grade school, and I didn’t really fight back, or tell anyone about it. Didn’t really tell anyone much of anything,” he says, his hands out, “seeds laid for the Hulk right there.”

With a small, quick shake of her head, Darcy kisses his nose. “Stupid grade-school bullies.”  She slides her arms around him, embracing his stiff body.  He yields only after she tightens her squeeze gently.

“The Hulk is scary.  I know that now,” she whispers into his neck, small kisses in between each word.  “That’s my thing, though.” Darcy pulls back, touching her forehead to his. “I trust you, though. I have to learn how to trust the Hulk as much.”

Tenatively, gently, he tips her head up with fingers under her chin. He cannot believe he is considering jumping in, dragging her into this disaster that is his life.

“I didn’t want to share any of this with anyone, you know? I don’t… I think I could hurt you. I _will_ hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.” He swallows and takes the first step forward. For him, it is gigantic, Hulk-sized. “Can we take this slowly?”  

She is breathless for a second, before she replies. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Would it be all right if we kept this… _us_ between us? Not that I’m ashamed about it or anything,” he adds quickly, spying the quizzical expression on Darcy’s face. “I think I need time to get used to being back in society again. And the whole…”

_Sharing myself with someone._

“And the whole dating thing. You might find I’m not great at relationships.”

She shrugs. “Who is these days?”  

“This is strange territory for me.”

Darcy nods. “Just kiss me again, okay? If you wanted to keep this thing with us a secret for the rest of your life, it’ll be just peachy so long as you give me a damn kiss.” Her voice rolls like a soft purr and that’s it for him. Bruce is simply gone.  Closing his eyes, Bruce jumps in.  He’s kissing her again, softer, and still quite hesitant. He gives her an out even though he knows she won’t take it. 

“Just so you know,” Darcy says against his mouth, smiling as she nibbles his lower lip, “I don’t have a thing for Clint. Like, at all.” She pecks him. “Have no idea where you got that from.”

He pulls away. “Wait…. Who told you-”

She doesn’t let him answer, but instead yanks him back to her, kissing him with nothing held back. Darcy Lewis throws every ounce of her energy, her enthusiasm into the kiss and it is so infectious, so completely consuming, that he's caught up, dragged into her whirlwind. He is not protesting though. Bruce's fingers rake through her hair. They dig into her shiny, thick, fruit-scented waves. They touch her cheeks, ghosting over their curves, letting himself feel her skin. He kisses her nose, her eyes, the corners of her lips, her chin. He could do this all day, map the landscape of her face with his mouth-

Until, that is, he hears a cough in the background.  

They pull away so fast, Bruce can practically hear a suction-like sound as they disentangle their lips. Both of them wipe their faces as they stare at Tony Stark, all aglow with pure smug.

“Please, by all means, don’t stop. Just tell me one thing: where can I send the announcements? The Save-the-Date cards?” He waves his hand casually in the air. “I know, extra paperwork and all, but I’m sure if I asked Pepper, she’d say it’s only good manners.” 

He slaps Bruce on the back. “Promise me I’ll at least have first dibs on best man.”

“ _Tony_.” Bruce levies a warning tone at Stark; even Darcy’s face is a violent shade of crimson. Stark ignores everything and keeps plowing along.

“I mean, you can’t choose Steve, right? Because his idea of a bachelor party would literally be cake and ice cream and possibly Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey-”

 _“Tony_!” 

“Did they even have strippers in those old-timey days? I wonder if we’d actually be able to give Rogers a good ol’ patriotic heart attack if we had a girl pop out of a cake-”

Before Bruce says anything else to try to distract him, Darcy walks up to Tony and smacks him square on the forehead. “For the love of God, can you _please_ shut the hell up?”

Tony blinks in shock and rubs the spot on his face. “I… well now, that was just plain rude. You know what? I’m not going to pay for the wedding. I _will_ pay for the strippers though. Plural. Many strippers.”

Darcy raises her hand again. “Did you not get the message? My hand - _your_ forehead? Want them to meet again? Or do you want an introduction to my infamous Taser?” 

Tony signals defeat. “Whoa whoa. Hand down, Sugar Ray. I kid because I love. I love _love_ , as a matter of fact.” He smiles placidly at both of them. “In all seriousness, it’s about time you two kooky kids hooked up. I’ll take fifty-percent of the credit, although I can negotiate it down to forty. I’m a huge fan of happy endings, love, yada yada yada.” Tony says, putting his hand over his chest, aglow with his arc reactor. “It makes the world spin ‘round, and I have it on good authority that love is all we need, it lifts us up where we belong... some shit like that.”

“Whatever. You don’t _love_ love. You love strippers.” Darcy shoots back. Tony points approvingly at her.

“Them too.”  

“Did you want something, Tony?” Bruce asks pointedly.

“You, big guy. I finished my little project and now I need you to take them out for a whirl. So, if you can manage to pry your lips away from Miss Congeniality, I’ll borrow you for, like, an hour. Maybe, a scoach longer, if that’s okay with you Miss-”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Miss Lewis,” he says quickly. “I was just gonna say Miss Darcy Lewis.” He flashes her a quick smile, taking Bruce by the arm.

“Um, take the rest of the day off, Darcy. Don’t know how long I’ll be.” Bruce says as he’s being pulled away. 

Smiling, she grabs a muffin, runs up to him and shoves it into his mouth. 

“Find me later, okay?” She pecks him on the cheek while managing to flash a death glare at Tony, and leaves the lab, a whirlwind of fire and motion that leaves Bruce agog and Tony giggling like a teenager.

 

###

 

  

Somehow, Tony manages to remain completely focused on the task: outfitting Bruce Banner in a pair of stretchable, flexible, Hulk-friendly pants, which were made at Bruce’s request.

“Called in a favor with Richards.” Tony grimaces at the name, which is perfectly understandable. Reed Richards, as far as Bruce knows, is a brilliant man. His work with quantum physics can only be described as elegant and innovative. However, he is also a huge dick. Far worse than Tony. Bruce laughs off Tony’s more annoying habits. Conversely, he limits his interactions with Dr. Richards because they're infinitely more Hulk-inducing than anything Tony could ever come up with.  He won’t tell Tony any of this, though, as he is almost certain that Tony would then lock Bruce up with Richards, just so the Hulk could smash a little of the “fantastic” out of him. 

“The polymers are essentially the same as Mr. Fantastic’s,” Tony’s talking as Bruce admires his gift. “He’s already got his own suit covered for every contingency - climate differentials, electrical conduction, fire, water, space… hell, the bastard even hinted that, theoretically, the fabric could withstand interdimensional travel. Possibly even temporal paradoxes.”

Bruce cocks his eyebrow. “Time travel. He’s serious about that?” 

Tony shakes his head. “How should I know? I stop listening to him once he goes into full ‘Reed Richards, Asshole’ mode. The bastard upgraded when Sue agreed to marry him.” He considers things with a pensive tilt of his head. “I strongly suspect he’s holding her hostage, or he has created some mind-control bomb and she was the test subject, that would be the only explanation. Or, he’s blackmailing her.”

“ _Or_ , as hard as it is to believe, Sue is really in love with him,” Bruce offers mildly. However, Tony’s suggestions all seem more plausible. Especially if one has met Reed Richards. 

“Nah. Impossible. He must have blackmail pictures or something… Although, wouldn’t that be something? Sue Storm: sex scandal.”

He chuckles as he holds the pants to his hips. “These are great, Tony.”  The billionaire brushes his gratitude off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m serious. This really means a lot to me.”

“Charlie Brown, please, you’re embarrassing me.” Tony feigns with a small playful tap on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce sees the small wink he gives him before turning around. Tony claps his hands. “Next step; we gotta give you some field experience in the new duds.” He jerks his head to the right. “I know Thor and Steve are in the training room-”

“Yeah… well, I should-”

“Get back to your tasty muffin?”

Bruce's brow furrows in gnawing annoyance. “That’s no way to talk about Darcy.”

Tony points to his side. “I was talking about your muffin.”

“Oh.” He picks at Darcy’s pastry, which looks and smells delicious - blueberry streusel with frosting crisscrossing the top.

“You know, you can breathe, sit back, and relax here, right? _Mi casa es su casa._ ” Tony walks toward him, hands spread wide. They've only had this talk about a thousand times, and each time, Tony's arms get more flaily, his attitude gets more insistent, as if he has to make Bruce understand. Bruce does, of course, but it'll take more than a couple months' worth of pep talks from Tony Stark to fix almost a decade of negative thinking. Longer if he counts everything going back to his childhood.

“You’re still so serious all the time. Enjoy it. Enjoy the spoils of fame, of being the hero this city needed. Darcy doesn’t seem to mind the big green guy-”

“She saw him finally,” Bruce replies. His voice is softer now. “She… didn’t like it, to say the least. He scared her half to death.”

Tony shrugs. “Looked like she likes you just fine to me.”

“Yeah, well… that’s before she really gets to know me.”

“You - are - an - _Avenger_ _, n’est-ce pas_? I’m not sure how many ways I can say it that’ll make you believe it. _You,_ as the Hulk, took that psychotic Asgardian dipshit and made asphalt out of him. You took on I don’t even know how many flying robot worms, an entire army of the ugliest alien dickheads this side of the Milky Way, and just a few days ago, a fucking huge calamari thing that was tearing up midtown.” He ticks off all the Hulk’s accomplishments, one finger after another. “I even offer you a place to stay and work-”

“I still posit that you kidnapped me.”

The air of smugness is thick around Tony as he dismisses Bruce’s accusation, more a joke than actual charge. “Kidnapping’s such a strong word. I _persuaded_ you, with the lure of science.” The smirking bastard. “You knew it was going to be fun.” Tony slaps Bruce hard on the shoulder. Again. “Furthermore, you wouldn’t have met Miss Lewis, remember? I brought Darcy in and asked her to help you out because I thought it’d be good for you.”

“And she’s hot?" 

“ _And_ she’s hot,” Tony acknowledges. “And hilarious. And smart and snarky and I figured she’d keep you on your toes when I’m not around.  Looks like I was right.”

“She’s all of those things, yes. But she’s also young. Too young to be attached to a middle-aged basket case with massive rage issues.” He says it matter-of-factly, does not look for pity because he does not want pity. It is the truth, simply put.  

Bruce taps his fingernails against the cool metal. Moving his hands, rubbing his knuckles. They are all nervous ticks, born from the energy of keeping a million and one emotions at bay, of thinking through theorem after theorem after algorithm while keeping a million and one emotions at bay. Bruce’s brain is always a mess of things. Now, there are the constructs of friendship, of team-building, of camaraderie, of forging relationships. For others, they are seamless, easy.

For him, they are accidental, and as much as he keeps telling himself that he doesn’t want them, never wanted them, and doesn’t deserve them, they grow stronger every day. 

“Well, personally, I don’t blame her,” says Tony, with all the awareness that he’s filling in a conspicuous lull in the conversation. “I’ll be honest, if I swung that way, I’d go for it.”

“Tony,” Bruce sighs, rubbing his head as he feels a headache coming. “Not helping.”  
  
“What? You’d be my top choice, Cupcake, if I preferred the company of men. Thor’s handsome. Too handsome. Who wants to be with someone more handsome than they are? Cap’s, like, ninety. It’d be like sleeping with my grandpa. Barton’s a fuckwad-”

“Okay, okay!” Bruce holds his hands up, attempting to remained annoyed but finding it impossible to not laugh at the absurdity of Tony’s brain. “Please, just _please_ stop. I get your point.”

“All I’m saying...”  Tony takes him by the shoulder again, dusting off some invisible lint from Bruce’s shirt. “You might not see yourself the way others do, and that’s all right.  Just this once, relax.” He steps away from Bruce, to key some things into his phone. “You’re a hero. You can afford a little _you_ time. You’re entitled to something or someone who will make you happy.” 

It reminds Bruce of their conversation in the lab in the helicarrier the first time they met, where Tony somehow convinced Bruce that there was a purpose, a reason for the Hulk, that the Hulk could be more than simple, mindless brute force.  He had railed against it then, but Tony had planted a germ, a seed in his mind that Bruce could, maybe, live somewhat normally again. 

He plucks at the top of muffin, taking a bite, noting to himself that he must remember to compliment Darcy on her baking because it is really delicious. He slings the pants over his shoulder.

“It’s been a long time,” he replies. “I can hardly remember what it’s like having a life where I’m not looking over my shoulder for the military to sneak up on me. Between you and Darcy, I’m getting used to the poking and the prodding. As far as anything goes with relationships, even before,” he sweeps his hands down, “the Other Guy existed, I wasn’t all that great.”

“Look,” Tony says, casually hopping up on a nearby table. “I’m shit at relationships. Ask Pepper.”

Bruce smirks.  “I don’t think I have to ask. I see the way she glares at you seventy percent of the time.”

“Right? Well, whenever I’m with her, the better half of me is _screaming_ to walk away, to let Pep go and find someone who’s less egotistical, less self-centered, less… _me_.  But, the other half, the selfish, egotistical bastard part, doesn’t want to let go of her. I’m crazy about her. And that part of me wants to keep trying to be the better man, the man I know she deserves.”  
  
He crosses his arms. “So, what you’re saying to me is-”

“Be selfish. See where it goes.” 

“Even if she wants something I can’t give? Even if the likelihood of pain in the future is strong?”

Tony _humpfs_ quietly with a wry grin. “I don’t know. You’ll figure it out. You’re a smart guy.” He snaps into his palm, clearly signaling that Tony’s done with this awkward topic;  Bruce won’t complain; talking about feelings is still a foreign concept. Tony jumps off the table, throws an arm around Bruce and leads him out of the lab.  

“Okay! Let’s do this. We’ll go interrupt Thor’s little sparring session with Cap.”

“Steve does realize that he’s not an Asgardian, right? Thor could hurt him, horrifically bad, if things got out of hand.”

“True, which is why I’ve also designed a new suit for Rogers that is impermeable to Thor’s thunder.” Obviously, Tony laughs here. Bruce immediately knows why.

“How _old_ are you?”

They are in the hallway about two floors down from R&D, and Tony’s already steering him toward the training room, which is actually two floors. It is a self-repairing simulation module with several danger scenarios built in along with increasing levels of difficulty. The structural reinforcements give some support to best accommodate the Hulk when he’s in full-on battle rage mode. In fact, everything in this hall is Hulk-sized; from the rest rooms across the hall to the specially designed room Tony built to give Bruce privacy as he comes down from Hulking out.

Before they enter the simulation room, Bruce turns to Tony. “I should find Darcy first. Let her know what I’ll be doing for a couple of hours.”

“Already a whipped man.” Tony smirks. “She’ll be fine for a couple of hours, all right? Let’s get you into these pants.” 

“By the way, why just pants? Why don’t I get a shirt?” 

Tony stares at him pityingly. “Because, WMD, your whole body is your suit. The pants are mostly a courtesy, unless you’d rather fight evil with…” he flaps his hand quasi-level with Bruce’s crotch, “ _that_ all flopping about.” 

Blood rushes to Bruce’s face and he wipes his hand down his cheeks to hide it. “Yeah, I get it, Tony. I get it.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony stops in front of the doors to the training room.

“Sir.”

“Stop current simulation and tell the others we’re coming in.” 

“Yes, sir.”

A minute passes before the doors slide open. Steve Rogers and Thor stand next to each other, vociferously discussing what must have been a rousing practice. Thor hasn’t even broken out in a sweat, but he appears to be, in Bruce’s mind, battle giddy. Steve, his cowl still on, is slightly sweatier, but not the least bit fatigued, and appears spirited as well.  They jog over to greet them.

“Greetings, Bruce Banner! Have you come out for a day of war games? It would please me greatly to row with the Hulk - I feel a desire for a rematch stirring in my bones.”  

Tony snorts and Bruce tries to keep his face even as Thor pumps his hand hard. “Uh, yeah, I guess we could swing that today.”

“Bruce.” Steve extends his hand to both of them. “So, you’re getting yours too, then?” He nods at the pants over Bruce’s shoulder.

“Looks like it.” 

Steve runs his hand down his new uniform. “Tony did a helluva job on the stars and stripes.” He addresses Tony. “Thor threw everything he could darn well think of, and the suit took it like a charm. Thank you.”

Tony brushes him off. “No big.”

“It really is.” It is Steve’s voice, but he throws his Captain America gravitas behind it. “I really appreciate the effort- Tony? What are you doing?”

 Tony is no longer listening to Steve; instead he’s tugging at something on the uniform, making Steve turn while humming in disapproval. “Well, shit. Didn’t catch this the first time. J.A.R.V.I.S. note that left side, one, two, three inches bottom of left pectoral, there is a soft spot in the filament coating. Pattern of scorch marks and fraying of the top layer indicate that reinforcements are necessary.”

“Tony, that’s… that’s okay. The suit itself held up just fine.”

“Prototype, Rogers,” Tony says mildly, and walks around Steve to examine any other potential weak spots. “This thing is still in the beta-testing stages. We’ve gotta work out the kinks. You spent seventy years as a capsicle. Don’t want you spending seventy seconds as the worst Fourth of July firework ever. I mean, what would all the grannies do if Captain America goes full Nagasaki. I don’t want to be responsible for giving old ladies everywhere massive coronaries.”  Steve shuts his eyes, mouth pursed, but saying nothing as Tony examines the suit further. 

After a few more minutes, Tony finishes up his examination of Steve’s suit and rubs his hands together. “Great. Awesome. So, how about a battle of the big boys? Thor, Hulk?” He points at both men. “You’re up.”

“Thor, this is okay with you?” Bruce asks.

“It is,” Thor says, clasping - _hard -_ Bruce’s shoulder. “I understand that I am perhaps the sole Avenger who can match the Hulk for strength and power.”

“Blondie is not wrong about that,” Tony chimes in. “I ruined one great suit when we first met. And right now, I have nothing that can withstand Hulk’s… _subtlety._ ” 

“My sincerest regrets, Tony Stark.” Thor bows his head as he speaks. “As recompense for your armor, I would offer you a suit made of the finest dwarves’ metal when I next return from Asgard. They are responsible for the forging of the mighty Mjolnir. Their metalwork is unparalleled in our realm.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind, buddy.  Actually, dwarf-forged metal may come in handy for my next masterpiece - a Hulk-worthy special that’ll match the green guy, punch for punch.”

“A Hulked-out Iron Man suit? You think _that’s_ a good idea?” Bruce asks disbelievingly. Tony shrugs.

“I live my life one badass suit at a time.” He winks and slaps both Bruce and Thor on their backs.

Bruce looks at the team. “As much as I’ve come to value the bonds of our friendship,” he begins dryly, “I’d really prefer to change into these pants somewhere in private.”  

“So modest,” Tony hums. “The little boys’ room’s across the hall.” 

Bruce flies into the spacious restroom, taking his time, preparing himself for the inevitable. Sure, letting the Hulk out to play is probably good for him, blow off some steam, like how a still active volcano releases lava.  However, Bruce has never told anyone how much the transformation hurts, not until Darcy asked him point-blank in the lab. He feels every millimeter his bones grow, every inch his muscles swell, every nerve firing. And the way the Hulk pushes his way through his mind, the way he pummels Bruce back into a little dark cubby hole until he’s done playing…

It is something Bruce has to prepare himself for. It takes a gargantuan psychological effort to expose his worst self to the world, to his team. To Darcy.

Taking several deep breaths, he leaves his shirt on, but unbuttoned, and walks back over to the training room.

“I’m ready,” Bruce says to the other Avengers, his voice hardening, but low in volume. The others look at him as Steve steps forward. 

“You need anything before we start?”  

Bruce shakes his head. “Just a wide berth, Cap.” 

Steve nods and steps back, his hand flexing on the straps of his shield, securing it in place on his arm.  

He shuts his eyes, counts down from ten, and feels the anger that’s always there, always at a low ebb, flood through his nerves.  His body is on fire and he falls down into the abyss as the Hulk smashes the last barrier with an all-consuming roar.

 


	7. Of Playtime and Overcoming Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has secret playdates. Darcy watches. And bonds with Natasha in a couple of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of child abuse. They are brief, not too detailed, but I wanted to make sure you were properly warned.
> 
> Also, apologies for a big old error in the second to last section of the story. A passage got C & P'd while I was moving things around before posting and I didn't catch it until after I posted. It should be fixed now!
> 
> Thanks, again, for reading.

Darcy and Jane are sitting in the living room of the main floor, all modern and earth-toned, lounging and working on sleek cream-colored couches far plusher than they appear.

“Hand me that set of pictures, please?” Jane types away, while Darcy passes the papers to her in one hand and paints Jane’s toenails with her other, as she can multitask like a champ.  On her laptop, she is “borrowing” Bruce’s research on possible incidents of contamination. Bruce has gotten a good head start on the project too. He does not know she’s doing this because he’s been God-knows-where with Tony for the past two hours. 

After their understanding in the laboratory, Darcy is more than certain he has retracted all that nonsense about firing her. It’s not really “nonsense”, his concerns are certainly valid but, really, he needs the help. There are potentially dangerous people in the world who need to be tracked down, and he cannot do it alone. 

Also, there is kissing. Lots of kissing. More, possibly, in the future. Darcy's tummy squiggles at this thought. 

The women are sitting in the living room of the main floor, all modern and earth-toned, lounging and working on sleek cream-colored couches far plusher than they appear. Darcy checks her computer; it’s still not finished copying the files from Bruce’s workstation. Damn. How much work did he do over the last three days? Did he even eat?

Jane’s foot jerks in her hand. “Hey! That tickles.”

“If you want your pedi to look like a drunk kindergartner went to town on you, then be my guest and wiggle away. Otherwise, hold still!”

Jane shoots her a biting glare but the ridge of curiosity deepens on her forehead. “What color is that? It’s beautiful.”

“It’s ‘I’m Not Really A Waitress’!” Darcy laughs. “It’s the name. Totally wicked, right? I _had_ to get it.” 

“Yeah, sure… name’s great, yeah.” Jane’s already back to scribbling and typing, pencils sticking all crazy in her hair, whispering numbers and letters to herself. 

In the background, the elevator slides open and the _click clack click_ of a woman’s heeled shoes echo on the floor. Darcy, being the socially alert one between both of them, looks up. A tall blond woman approaches them, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, body dressed casually but impeccably well. She is in jeans, a cream-colored vest, and a grey-and-brown hatched blazer that Darcy instantly covets.  The woman's face is very familiar, but this is the first time she has met her. 

She talks, and for a second, Darcy thinks she is addressing them.  

“Hello, J.A.R.V.I.S. How are we today?”

“Splendid, Miss Potts. I do hope you are well.”

Pepper Potts is usually in business dress on the covers of all the magazines she graces, but she's stunning no matter her wardrobe choices and, anyway, she's, like, incredibly awesome. Darcy feels kind of dumbstruck in her presence.

“I'm doing well, thanks. Thought I’d surprise Tony before our dinner date - Oh!” She stops short of the living room.  “Hi. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to disturb you two,” the woman says in a very pleasant, disarming voice, “but have either of you seen Tony Stark?”

“Uh,” Darcy stammers, twisting the cap back on the nail polish and tossing back into her basket of mani-pedi goodies. “He drug Bru- er, Dr. Banner out of the lab a few hours ago.” 

There is a regretful tone to the woman’s amused hum as she sneaks a look at her phone. “Of course he did. It’s a good thing I showed up for dinner two hours early. It’ll take that long to pry him away from all of his fun.” 

Darcy stands up, although Jane is still typing furiously away. There is a very good chance that she didn’t even notice another person entered the room  “You… must be Pepper Potts?”

“I am. Pleased to meet you-”

“Darcy Lewis. Lab assistant to both Bruce and Jane.” Darcy taps, not gently, Jane’s bare feet, which finally gets the tiny astrophysicist off her computer. 

Pepper’s face presses into a knowing, but friendly, smile. “Darcy Lewis, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“ _None_ of it’s true, I assure you.”

“Relax. Tony’s told me he thinks you are positively charming.”

“Oh!” Darcy’s eyes pop, surprised. “Well then, it's all true.”  Pepper laughs, and Darcy decides that 1) Pepper Potts is _super_ awesome, and 2) how the hell did Tony Stark manage to land _and_ keep her?

Jane holds her hand out, smiling, and generally acting more human. “Jane Foster.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet you too! You’re the astrophysicist, right?”

“I am! Sorry I was on the…” She gestures awkwardly at her computer. “Work is… I’m really close to figuring out something…”  

Darcy palms her forehead listening to Jane’s blabber-speak; when she’s engrossed in her work, it’s next to impossible for Jane to hold a normal conversation with other human beings.

 “Your words, Jane. Use your words.” 

Chuckling, Pepper holds her hand up. “Believe me, being with Tony, I’m used to it. Although, it’s not so much him fixated on computers as it is him nearly blowing up his newly built lab spaces.” She sets her purse down on the coffee table next to Darcy’s makeup set. “I _wish_ he was more fixated on his computer screens. So would his insurance company.”  

Darcy moves her laptop onto her lap and gestures for Pepper to take a seat. “Cop a squat. I’m waiting for Dr. B anyway.”

Pepper joins them on the couches, which are large and spacious enough to seat all of the Avengers as well as any plus-ones. Pepper humors the girls, mostly Darcy, as she flips through the DVR on the giant flat screen television. 

“Who in the world watches that much _Duck Dynasty?_ ” Jane asks.

“I don’t even know what that is.” Pepper’s brow bends as she reads the description.

“Delete that and die, Lewis.” 

The three women turn around… no one. They look up, and Darcy yelps as Clint Barton does some sort of weird, but really cool, flip thing from God-knows-where.

“Barton, the hell?” she shrieks when he lands. “Were you up there the entire time _watching_ us?”

“Not the _entire_ time,” he says, bounding over to the couch and snatching the remote from Darcy’s hand, pushing play before the protests leave Darcy or Jane’s lips. “But definitely long enough to make sure you don’t erase my shows. Miss Potts.” He tips two fingers toward Pepper, and Pepper mimics the greeting.  

“Clint! It’s always good to see you. Please no ‘Miss Potts.’ It’s Pepper.”

He winks at her as he ruffles Darcy’s hair. 

“Ow! Dude, what the fuck?” 

Clint ignores her and nearly crashes on Darcy’s lap. Jane pulls her feet up just in time.  

"Hey, Doc! What’s going on?” 

Jane stares at him, “You watch this?” She nods at the screen, on which a really, super scraggly old man is talking with a thick Louisiana accent.  

Smirking, Clint lays back on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and nearly spilling all of Darcy’s makeup onto the floor. He spends the next fifteen minutes waxing poetic about duck calls and these ZZ Top-looking dudes. They watch the show, amused. The corners of Jane’s lips barely turn up. Pepper laughs against her fingertips pressed to her mouth. Darcy outright guffaws several times.

Clint looks at each of them, proudly. “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.”

Tearing her eyes away from the screen, Darcy stands up, tugging on her snug, worn-out  T-shirt. “Well, Country Boy, I hate to break up this shindig, but I’m going to check on Bruce.”

“How’s that whole love affair going?” Clint tears his eyes away from the screen briefly to bat them, feigning innocence. Darcy says nothing, but flattens her mouth and scruffs his hair with her fist, making him yelp this time. Payback’s a bitch. 

“Shut it, or I’ll stick an arrow where the sun don’t shine, Hawkdork. Pointy end first.”

“With those arms? Please,” he smirks. “He’s Hulked out down in the training room.  You should go check him out.” He punctuates his sentence with a wink, right as his words sink in.

“He’s… the Hulk? Right now?” Darcy twists, her stare ping-ponging back and forth between Clint and the elevator she knows goes to the training room, although she has never been. She’s never had a reason to go before. But now?

“Yeah. He’s duking it out with Thor right now. There’s an observation room that’s some distance away from the melee; I’m pretty sure that’s where Tony is.”

“Wait a minute.” Jane sets her laptop on the table in front of her. “Who’s he fighting?” 

“Thor. Pretty much the only Avenger at this point who can hold up to the Hulk’s smashing without special gear or body armor.”

“He’s beating up Thor?” Jane shoots up and hurdles over the couches with a speed Darcy never knew she had. If Darcy had her wits about her, she would’ve totally scolded Jane for potentially ruining her perfectly lovely pedicure. However, all Darcy can think about is Bruce and the Hulk...

_Oh my God._

She may see the Hulk again. She thinks maybe this isn’t a bad thing. It sure as hell is a _scary_ thing, but it’s good for her to see the Hulk up close and in action. She has to learn to deal with the Hulk, to find some sort of peace about him. If she wants to start anything with Bruce, she must do this, and she has to start acting like a grown fucking woman. 

“Yeah. I stayed, worked out with them for a little while.” Clint continues talking although Darcy’s positive no one’s really paying much attention. “Truth be told, it got kinda boring.” Clint shrugs. “Once I used up most of my fun arrows.” 

Pepper, too, gets up from her spot on the couch to join them.“You know, I’d better go and check on Tony. Stop him from getting into even more trouble.” 

“Didn’t mean to run everyone off.” Clint mock-pouts at the women. However, he doesn't stay sad for long, locking his fingers behind his head and resettling on the sofa for more of his duck show.  

They head toward the nearest elevator. Darcy’s stomach is all up in her throat. Pepper presses the button and they wait. Jane’s tapping her bare feet on the carpet, and Pepper’s frantically texting Tony.  Darcy’s jaw is clenched tight and she stares at the elevator door, willing the damn thing to open right then, right now.

It does and all three women get on.

 

###

 

 

Pepper leads Jane and Darcy to the observation deck.  “I’ve only been here one other time,” she says over her shoulder. “But it does give you a nice vantage point of the simulation room, although, I’m not entirely sure it is fully Hulk-proof so we should probably still be careful.”

Darcy jogs to catch up with her. “What do you mean _Hulk-_ proof?”

Pepper stops walking, as do Darcy and Jane, to explain the room to them. “From what I understand, the Hulk can leap long distances, and he can punch through practically anything you put in front of him. That made figuring out how to reinforce the existing structure of the room at the base of Stark Tower nearly impossible. Tony’s goal anyway was to make a simulation room to test out every suit in the armory. I also suspect he wanted to build a room where he and Rhodey could play around with their armors." She rolls her eyes with a grin. “Therefore, it had to meet the most rigorous standards.  We looked at different architectural methods and evaluated several materials before settling in on the final design. When Bruce moved in, he also gave us a ton of valuable assistance.”

She pauses and hums for a moment, considering something. “Although, it’s my understanding that it hasn’t quite been tested out yet, at least with the Hulk and Thor together in the same room.”

“Hasn’t been tested? So, what does that mean?” Jane asks.

“That means-”

Right on cue, a loud _BOOM_ followed by a louder _ROAR_ rattles the building. Pepper steadies herself with her legs spread, knees bent and arms open.

“What the hell?” Pepper bolts down the hall, Darcy and Jane hot on her heels. They stop in front of two sliding doors, which open automatically.  

The observation deck is a large room, like a skybox at a sports stadium. The furniture, couches, chairs, and tables, match what is upstairs in the living room, all angular, simple lines. A sleek black table, lit up like a Stark-special Christmas, sits in front of the large windows, to the left of three figures standing, watching the fight below. There is even a fully stocked bar, and Darcy can’t help but think a drink sounds real bloody good right about now. Then she sees the large panels of glass and she remembers why they’re here. Not like she actually forgot.

The _booms_ and _roars_ continue, with some added bellowing courtesy of Thor. Standing at the windows are three figures in silhouette. One figure holds a glass of Scotch in one hand. Clearly, Tony Stark. Steve Rogers, with his cowl off, stands with his arms crossed and his shield strapped to his back. Natasha Romanoff stands next to him, her own arms crossed, her back ramrod straight.  Each gesture at the scene before them, talking about God know what. Beyond them, Darcy can see bolts of lightning cutting through the air, and a loud _BOOM_ following it.  

“Natasha, Steve, hi.  Tony?” Pepper asks, practically panting. “What’s going on?”

Tony turns, as does Natasha and Steve. “Pepper! Wait, we’re on for 7:30 right? I didn’t miss that, did I? J.A.R.V.I.S.-”

“You are correct, Sir. Miss Potts informed me she was a couple of hours early for dinner when she arrived at approximately 5:23 this evening.”

“See? I didn’t forget anything.” Tony sets his drink down and swoops in for a kiss, which Pepper returns. 

“Of course not, I never said you did. But please tell me what you're doing, and how badly my twelve percent of this tower is going to be damaged." 

“Pep… darling-”

“‘Darling’ me later, Tony. What’s going on, and how much will the repairs cost us?" 

Tony rubs her elbows, clearly hoping to tempt her away from the line of questioning. “I finished the Hulk pants... I’m thinking about calling them Big Green Jeans, trademark pending.” He winks at her; she says nothing, but shakes her head. The look she gives him is sweetly urging him to shut up. 

“Big Green Jeans? I see. And any profit from said venture will go to repairs, right?”

“Well, that’s the idea,” Tony replies as he leans in for a kiss. 

It strikes Darcy as strange, seeing such a different, affectionate side to Tony Stark. With Pepper Potts, he’s so... human. Vulnerable. Far different from the cocky, smug egotistic billionaire she’s used to seeing. Her heart pings a tiny bit watching Pepper and Tony together.

She steps away from them, to give them a little more privacy, and joins Jane at the window with Cap and Natasha, who are still glued to the battle below.

Thor and the Hulk are tangled in a violent wrestling match.  They dodge fast bullet-like projectiles when they’re not trying to tear the limbs off of each other.

“Holy shit!” Jane whispers breathlessly, and she presses herself against the window.  

Steve Rogers finally looks over at the two of them. “Jane, Darcy. When did you two get here?”

“Just now,” Darcy replies, her voice dull. She is far too distracted by the violence below.  

“This might get tough to watch.” Steve continues, “If either of you want to leave-”

“Cap.” Natasha puts her hand on his arm and shakes her head ever so slightly. Darcy remains focused, her attention on the room below.  

The room Thor and the Hulk are tussling in is about the size of an airplane hangar, maybe a little larger.  Thor looks like he’s having a blast; his face scrunches with exertion every time he levies a punch or a kick into the Hulk, but it is evident that he’s having the time of his life. The Hulk rips into huge metal chunks and concrete; he roars any time he smashes anything. In between punches, Darcy notices that the Hulk’s mouth is cocked to one side, almost in a perpetual smirk. Both battle-crazed brutes let scream after victorious scream rip when they send a mysterious projectile ricocheting back toward the walls, Thor off his hammer and the Hulk with his bare fists.

Darcy gasps when Thor picks the Hulk up by his ankle and throws him. The big green mass soars toward observation deck, more energy pellets hitting his flesh, but causing no injury, not even singeing his skin. She screams as he slams against the glass, which, surprisingly, doesn’t shatter, but vibrates with his deafening howl. He turns his monstrous face toward the glass wall and bellows again, this time his mouth open, his eyes staring straight at Darcy. She jumps about five feet in the air and the breath she didn’t realize she was holding turns into a scream. Jane stumbles backwards, and Cap, somehow, manages to catch both of them.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see us.” Tony taps on the glass, unfazed by the Hulk’s display of aggression. It’s a new thing I’ve been working on, diamond-anodized glass. Practically unbreakable. Although that won’t be from lack of the Hulk trying,” he continues, “and we’ve tinted and angled it just so to obscure ourselves from the party below.”

“One of these days, Stark,” Natasha interjects, “we’re going to have a long discussion about your definition of the word ‘party.’” 

Darcy barely hears any of this. She is on her hands and knees, scrambling toward the glass window, pressing her palms against it as she watches the melee.   

“They’re not hurting each other, if that makes any of this better,” Steve Rogers kneels beside her. Darcy shakes her head, but no words come out.

“They look like they’re trying to tear each other apart.”

Jane is next to her now, sandwiching Darcy between her and Captain America. “Are you sure-”

Steve nods. “Absolutely. We even think-” He looks up at Natasha. “We think Bruce, the Hulk, may be holding back.”

“ _That’s_ him holding back?” Darcy points at the carnage. Dear Lord, but if that’s the Hulk holding back, then she never, ever wants to see him go on a rampage. He’d level a city like a nuclear bomb. 

“He has limited conversation skills,” Natasha continues, “ Which means he can reason, and he can follow orders.”  
  
“To be honest, when the orders are limited to ‘Hulk!’ and ‘Smash!’, he doesn’t really have any issue following them,” Steve adds.

“Still. It’s worth noting,” Natasha finishes.

“Darcy,” Steve says, turning back to her. “I know you’re Bruce’s lab assistant, and his friend-”

She hears Tony cough into his glass of Scotch as Cap refers to her a Bruce’s “friend,” but she does not correct the assumption. 

“You don’t have to watch this,” Steve says.  “If it’s too much for you.”

She looks beyond Cap’s shoulder, twisting slightly away so his grip on her shoulder loosens. Staring at the fight below, Darcy watches, adjusting her glasses, as Thor and the Hulk start, again, at opposite corners of the room. Both are panting hard, both are staring at each other like two opponents in a boxing ring who don’t want to call the fight just yet.  

Thor grins, and so does the Hulk. They fly from their corners and smash into each other. 

Darcy laughs, despite feeling little else but nerves and fear. “Holy shit! Did you see that?”

Jane gasps and grabs Darcy as the impact of the two Avengers shakes the room. “Whoa! My God!”  

“It looks like they’re enjoying it.” Darcy doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but she does, barely a whisper. 

“Honestly, I think Thor’s been hankering for a sparring partner that he can’t easily break - no offense.” Tony lifts his glass to Steve and Natasha, who in turn glower at him. “The Hulk’s _absolutely_ been waiting for this, for an opportunity to play.”

Darcy gapes at Tony. “Play?” Tony nods and takes a long drink, emptying out his Scotch.

“The Hulk is really just a little kid, well a _giant_ kid, who’s always being told to sit in the corner or stay in his room. He’s all hepped up on anger, which, let’s face it, is the Hulk equivalent of candy, and pent-up energy. I mean, what kid wouldn’t want to smash everything in sight when he’s finally let loose? We need to encourage this. Make it a weekly thing.”

Steve, Natasha, Darcy and Jane all stare at Tony like he’s grown two heads at once. Pepper cocks her eyebrow. “You do realize that we’re going to have to hire an in-house construction crew if we do that.”

“What? We haven’t already?”

She sighs. “You and your brilliant ideas.”

“My brilliant ideas will pay for _ten_ in-house construction crews as well as dinner tonight.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, but she hides her small smile behind her fingers.

Darcy slowly stands up, and Jane is right next to her. They watch as their men hit, punch, toss and roar at each other.  

“Maybe it isn’t as bad as it looks,” Jane finally says. 

Darcy feels her throat dry out. “Maybe.”

Steve clears his and Darcy tears her eyes away, for an instant, while Thor socks the Hulk right on the chin with Mjolnir. She flinches when she hears a mighty _BOOM!_

“Tony, I think it’s time.”

“Chill, Cap, no pun intended. They’re just getting warmed up-”

Steve levels him with a look and points to a rather precariously cracked rafter. “Your room says otherwise.”

“What part of _self-repairing room_ do you not understand, Rogers?”  

Fluttering his lids exasperatedly, Rogers turns to Natasha. “You coming with?” 

She shakes her head. “I think I’ll stay up here for a little bit.”  

In a whirl of red, white and blue, Steve Rogers disappears. Darcy spins around, glaring at Natasha for no other reason than she’s here and she’s the easiest one to glare at.

“He’s going in there alone?” 

“It’s what he does.”

J.A.R.V.I.S.’ voice echoes throughout the observation room. “Captain Rogers has asked to end the simulation.” It is an announcement that reverberates down below in the training room as well, as Thor steps away from the Hulk. 

Whether the Hulk received the message or not is unclear, though, as he brings up his fist and smashes it on Thor’s head. Jane squeaks. 

“Is he all right?”

Darcy clings to her shirt, as it appears at first that the Hulk hammered Thor’s entire body, like a nail, into the floor of the room. Rogers appears, running toward them, just in time to see Thor stand up, perfectly fine, brushing off his uniform as he does so.  Cap has his arms up, shield on his back, and he’s talking to the Hulk. 

The Hulk lets out another great roar. He beats his chest like a male gorilla as he stares at Cap defiantly. Even from her position high above them, Darcy can see the Hulk’s nostrils flaring in anger.  

With a great big grunt, the Hulk stomps out of the room through a set of sliding doors to their right.  

“See? Cap got it all straightened out. All good. And hey! Pants worked like a charm.”

Natasha stares at Tony incredulously as Pepper ushers him out the door, followed by Jane; undoubtedly she’s going to find her Asgardian boyfriend and check on his post-battle condition.  Darcy finds a spot on the couch and plants herself on it. She takes off her glasses to scratch her nose while thinking, perhaps for the first time ever, that she is at a complete loss of anything to say or think or do…

The Hulk… Darcy’s shuts her eyes, attempting to process what she just witnessed. The last forty-some-odd minutes were nothing less but an all-out assault by the Hulk, a display of violence and brutality against one of his own teammates. Thor takes it like a charm, but she doesn't expect any less from someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a god.

_He is, for better or worse, the darkest part of me._

She thinks back to Bruce’s own words. She sees this now. The Hulk is not the Bruce she knows, the Bruce she likes. He is completely different from Bruce himself, and yet, he _is_ him. She tries to reconcile both sides of the man in her head. So deep in her thoughts, she does not hear someone move to sit next to her.

“Like I said, I think it’s worth noting.” 

Darcy opens her eyes. Natasha Romanoff is sitting upright, her back not touching the chair itself. She looks like she’s ready, always ready, to jump, to run out into battle, guns blazing.  She never looks very comfortable herself.

“What?”  
  
The Black Widow nods toward the window.  “Bruce’s… The _Hulk_ ’s reaction time, his exertion during his fight with Thor. I didn’t imagine it; he was pulling his punches.”

“Are you sure?”

“I never say something unless I am certain of it.”

Darcy nods, as her fingers find a loose thread on her shirt. She rubs it, twirling the thread around and around, hoping that some of her fears will disappear into the thin strand of fabric.

“Um, can I uh… call you Natasha?” Darcy looks at her expectantly; when she doesn’t reply, Darcy presses forward. “It’s just that, kinda thought you were being, like, friendly and shit a few days ago.”

Natasha arches her eyebrow. “I don’t make friends easily.” 

Darcy grunts in response. “Wonder why.”  

This at least elicits a smirk from the assassin. “You aren’t frivolous though, like others I’ve known. Plus, you seem to entertain Clint.” After another moment where Natasha clearly assesses everything she knows about Darcy (and she imagines Romanoff has, indeed, read the file Darcy is sure S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps on her), she brusquely nods. “Call me Nat.”

“Nat?”

“You’re the one who brought up the ‘friend’ thing.”

Darcy shrugs; only Natasha Romanoff can make “friend” sound like a swear word. “Okay, _Nat,_ so the other day, when you said that the Hulk was very near the top of your list of things you fear, how do you deal with the stuff that really scares you?”

Natasha, leans back in her chair, crosses her legs, and wraps her linked fingers around her knees. From Darcy’s position, it appears Natasha is mulling things over, sucking in her cheeks as she makes Darcy wait to bestow her insight. 

“When I was four,” she begins, and Darcy notices the faintest trace of her accent, “I developed a fear of the dark. Consequently, I could not sleep without a light of some sort. I told my father about my fear.”

The detached tone of Natasha’s voice churns Darcy's guts. She squirms in her seat, waiting for a bomb to go off.

“When I told him,” Natasha says, her voice steady and cool like steel, “he locked me in a closet. I ate my meals in there, I slept in there. I pounded and screamed on the door when I needed to use the bathroom, and he shoved a chamber pot inside.” She tells the story with no emotion, no inflection. Her greenish eyes are hardened with flecks of grey. 

The story is horrific, but the clipped, distant voice of Natasha’s almost makes Darcy forget that she’s talking about herself. Almost.

“I did not bathe, I did not talk to another soul while I was in the closet. On the fourth day-”

 _Four days! My God…_ Darcy is horrified. She settles further into the couch and pulls her legs up against her body, her knees tucked underneath her chin.

“I did nothing. I made no sounds, I did not cry. Something inside me snapped. For better or worse, I started looking at the darkness as a friend, my only friend. There were no monsters there, except for the ones my mind created.” Natasha’s gaze remains focused, and Darcy cannot look away. “Later I realized there were other monsters beyond that closet door, although that lesson came when I had already started down my path with the Red Room. I confronted those monsters head on, never forgetting about the darkness that held no power over me afterward.”

Natasha lets her head fall back against the plush chair and shuts her eyes. “I recognize now that what was done to me was nothing more than abuse. But it showed me that fear comes from feeling powerless against the unknown. If you let that which you fear control you, you will never have the power. You must find a way to control it.”

Fear of the unknown. Letting go. Regaining control. Darcy mulls over Natasha’s story. Deep down, the tale twists something inside of her belly. She knows what it means, what she should do to overcome. It isn’t going to be easy, and she hates sneaking around Bruce to do it.

“I’m sorry about your childhood,” she finally says. Natasha’s eyes remain shut, but she replies.

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Darcy nods, although Natasha cannot see her. “Next time Bruce is down here training with the team, tell me.” She doesn’t ask it as a question, but states it as a request. She needs to learn, to study the Hulk. For now, this room provides her physical protection.

She will watch him, learn all about him, and eventually, she _will_ meet the Hulk.

“I will tell you, yes.” Natasha opens one eye and looks at her. “We should also start you training. You and Jane.”

“Uh, yeah, no.” As serious as the conversation was in the beginning, Darcy laughs at this ridiculous idea. She remembers a kickboxing class she took her sophomore year that nearly broke her spleen. She tried to start a running program in New Mexico with Jane; they made it about half a block before both of them doubled over out of breath. Training with a crew of spies and superheroes is _not_ something she signed up for. 

“You should work with Clint also; he’ll most certainly want to make you work. Steve would be an excellent, patient trainer too. Both you and Jane need to learn self-defense and the art of evasion.”  
  
“Art of evasion?” 

“Running away, avoiding danger.”

“You _don’t_ think I know how to run the fuck away when shit gets real?”

Natasha purses her lips together, and Darcy realizes that she’s trying to hold back a smile. “There are more artful ways of doing it. I can show you the basics, and you can go running with me.”

Darcy groans. “I _hate_ exercise.”

“It’ll be good for you.” With that, Natasha stands up. “Are you ready to leave or do you need a few more minutes?”

She licks her lips. “A few.”

Romanoff nods and makes for the doors.

“Natasha? Nat... If you see Bruce-”

“I’ll tell him you’re unavailable.”

Darcy turns around and smiles at her over her shoulder. “At least for another hour.”

With a final nod, Natasha is out the door, leaving Darcy all alone, adrift in her thoughts.

 

###

 

Darcy cuts her time in Jane’s lab by about half; enough to ensure she eats three squares a day, and things are organized for her friend. In the evenings, when she is not with Bruce, she listens to Jane’s theories, letting her get her astrophysics on while chugging back a beer or Arbor Mist or whatever cheap alcohol they have lying around the apartment.  

To Darcy’s horror, Natasha makes good on her threat of exercise. Around 5:30 in the morning, the deadly assassin drags both girls out of their comfortable beds and forces a five mile jog on them. 

“I can run this in my sleep. Cap runs the equivalent of a marathon every day. Two marathons on the weekends.”

“Oh… _yeah…_ ” Darcy huffs, completely out of breath by the halfway point. “ _Well, fucking-A… for… Cap_! _”_

On the ground next to her, Jane moans. “I’m dying. Just… leave me! Kidneys… _bursting_!” She clutches her stomach and wails. Loudly.

Natasha has none of their bitching. “It’s taking longer with both of you complaining than it is to finish the run. Now _up_!” 

Somehow, possibly by levying actual death threats against them, Natasha gets them up and running and finishes the five mile stretch, although it takes over an hour for them to complete it. 

“Stretch well,” Natasha says, as the pair limp back to the tower, “and take a warm bath to relax your muscles. We run again tomorrow.” She turns to finish her run, just as both Darcy and Jane flip her off. 

The Widow returns the favor, saluting them as she jogs away.

On the third day after one of Natasha’s death-inducing workouts, and venting her spleen about the agent, Darcy discovers a hidden talent of Bruce’s. A surprising one, at that. One that requires a lot of body contact. He is nervous at first, but eases into it after about five minutes.

“Mmm…”

Darcy lays on her stomach, her head resting on her hands, reveling in the sweet, perfect pressure of Bruce massaging her shoulders. “Magic hands.”  
  
“Thank the healers I met in India.” He kneads her back with his knuckles. “I learned some very useful techniques.” 

“My body thanks them, then.” Even though her muscles have been a wreck since their first jog, even though she’ll still be in pain tomorrow and probably the rest of the week, this moment is pure bliss.   

“Feeling any better?”

“Oh yeah,” she says with a sigh. “By the way, I’m not moving from here. Do you happen to have any palm leaves with which to fan me? Or piña colada slushies? Could really go for one.” She snaps her fingers rapidly. “Bring them to me, cabana boy!”

She whimpers when Bruce lifts his hands off her back. “Far be it from me to spoil you...” 

Reaching around, she slaps her back with floppy hands, trying to get him to keep up the massaging. “No, Bruce. No leave!” she gives him her best whiny voice. “More massage! Please! Now!” 

Darcy shivers when she feels him lean forward, his chest pressed into her back.

“I don’t mind spoiling you.” He continues the massage down her legs, her aching shins, as she lets out a sigh heavy with both relief and pleasure.

Much of her time is spent in Bruce’s lab or his apartment, which is a Jane-and-Thor-free zone. They investigate any possible human cases of gamma infection. Darcy realizes the scope of the project; they must separate gamma radiation sickness from gamma radiation infections, overdoses that completely alter the makeup of the human body. No small task.

As for the shift in their friends-to-something-more status, things are very different now. They banter and joke as ever before, though there’s a tinge more heat, more playfulness in their words. Bruce finds things about her to compliment, almost every day. Every time he does so, as stumbling and stuttering as he can be with his words, he makes her blush. Fiercely.

“You know Bruce, you should watch out with all the nice things you say,” she tells him one day after he mentions how much he likes her hair down and loose (“Not that I don’t like it when you pull it up, but I just… I like the waves.”). “A girl’ll start to think you’re just trying to get into her pants.” Darcy pumps her fist internally when she sees a violent shade of red color his face.

“Well,” he says, once he regains composure, “it doesn’t make it any less true.”

As for the physical aspect of dating Bruce Banner, it gets a little more complicated. Darcy realizes that if she’s going to get anywhere with the man, she’s got to take matters into her own hands and instigate everything. Which was, incidentally, how they ended up together in the first place.  He has been improving with basic human contact. He nudges her playfully, lets his foot tap lightly against her leg, letting it linger there, engaging in a little footsie while they work. When they share meals, Bruce sits next to her, touches her arm, and feeds her a little bit from his plate.  Darcy makes sure any bites of her food are free of meat before offering any to Bruce. 

Sometimes she misses his mouth on purpose, and she laughs at the wide-eyed expression of surprise when he realizes he’s got drunken noodle sauce on his cheek. 

It is charming, almost like they are nervous teenagers exploring each others’ spaces. It also lends itself to a little frustration on Darcy’s part. Well... a _ton_ of frustration. If Darcy wants some, she realizes quickly that she will have to resort to a little trickery to get some. Also, impulsivity. At least Darcy is nothing if not impulsive.

She and Bruce plow through a couple hours of work. When a lull appears, or when Bruce shows any sign of slowing down or mentions that they need to move on to another task, Darcy drops whatever she’s doing. She removes whatever he’s holding in his hands, grabs his face and plants her lips squarely on his mouth. 

It takes a few seconds for the kisses to sink in. Darcy does not let up, does not stop kissing him, and he starts softening, stops being less scared of the possibility of affection. 

She senses that _he_ senses their lips are touching and he needs to _do something._ Eventually, he does return her kisses, and his hands always find their way into her hair, threading through the thick strands, and every so often, she hears him draw in his breath, taking in her scent.  

The fifth time she does this, he pulls away with a shy smile. “Is there a reason, not that I’m complaining mind you, that you keep kissing me?”

Darcy chuckles and envelops Bruce with her arms into a warm, tight hug. “Figured if I didn’t, we’d never actually kiss. No offense, but you’re not great at instigating PDA.”

Bruce cringes, but she can see a hint of a smile beneath. “I’m sorry. I did tell you I needed practice with relationships.”  
  
“Consider this practicing.” She leans in again, brushing his lips with her own, smiling as she does so. “Also, a reward.”

“Reward?”

“For every few hours of successful work we do, I reward you with physical affection.”

“That’s very… Pavlovian. Am I that bad?”

Darcy drags him over to a couch in the corner of the lab and pushes his chest. He plops down and she follows, snuggling against him with her head resting on his shoulder. She doesn’t miss that he’s still rather tense as she touches him. However, the moment passes and his posture softens. 

“You need a nudge every now and then.” Darcy winds her arm through his. “Turns out I am _great_ at nudging. So leave that to me.”

She breathes a sigh of relief when he rests his chin on her head. “I can do that, as long as you don’t mind.”

“I admit that I tinkered with a couple of other ideas too, like strip science. Like, we do science, and for how ever long we work, I take off some clothes.”

She feels him still beside her. “And, um… you’re saying that’s off the table now?” 

“Down, big boy.” She taps him lightly on the chest.

At times, they work together in Bruce’s apartment. The space belongs to only Bruce, so they don’t have to fret over surprise appearances by Jane or Thor.  His place is furnished simply, sparsely; neutral couches, wooden dining table, bookshelves that slide away and reveal a flatscreen television embedded in the wall. 

But, there are small differences between Bruce’s place and Darcy’s. Plants in wooden and stone pots border the living area, nary a glass or ceramic vase in sight. Indeed, Darcy notices most of the decorative items are not the most fragile stuff, and things like pictures and furniture are bolted hard to the walls and floor. 

There is also the matter of Bruce’s belongings. Items from Bruce’s travels remain in their boxes, unpacked, even unopened. Darcy takes note of them; their very presence months after Bruce has holed up in Stark Tower tells her all she needs to know. Bruce still hasn’t accepted this place as his home. He’s still ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

The significance of this feels about as heavy as Darcy’s heart grows when she realizes why.

She’d like to talk to him about this need to keep at arms’ length, this thing of his where he feels he can’t stay in one place for very long. However, she has just persuaded him that he should date again. That conversation might be further down the road for them. She did, after all, resolve to take things slowly with Bruce. 

Thus, they work, and then their work sessions migrate into Darcy coaxing Bruce onto his couch for a break. They kiss. They kiss a lot. 

For Darcy, there is something very virginal in their fumblings together. Bruce’s hands tremble when they make contact with her skin, and he pauses when his fingertips brush over her body, waiting for her to give him permission to touch her. Which, of course, she always does. When he does touch her, everything is still very chaste. Nothing below clothing… yet. As brutal and violent as the Hulk is with his teammates, Bruce Banner is gentle. Sweet. And so very, _very_ slow. 

There are a few scares, though. 

Bruce stops, always stops, and jerks away from her when he feels his pulse accelerating too much, or when he feels things are getting far too intense for the big guy. His eyes shimmer with that all-too-familiar green, and the cast of his skin takes on an unnatural shade. He breaths shallowly, and he begs, _demands_ , that Darcy keep her distance until he can reign it in.

In this, Darcy does not push. She does not tease. She complies. She wants this to work because, _goddamn_! Bruce Banner and his scruffy, soft-spoken manner, his wit, his brains, his disarming way of looking at her like she’s the greatest thing in the world have Hulk-smashed their way into her heart. 

But the truth is that her eyes are wide open now, and she is not ready to face the Hulk. Not yet.

If there is a scare, they chill with the petting. He makes them both tea, insisting that he do things for her. Darcy knows he hates that the Other Guy is still so prevalent, that he can only say, “Sorry” so many times, and that, by now, he’s starting to feel like he’s reached his quota on apologies. 

She accepts the tea, and whatever other snacks he conjures for the both of them, and they snuggle on the couch, her legs sprawled over his lap, his hand running along the skin of her calves, rubbing her shoulders, touching her in ways that are, by now, very familiar. Innocent, but familiar. And nice. _  
_

She prays to God that he cannot hear her heart pounding through her ribcage, threatening to explode through her chest.

 

###

 

Three weeks pass. 

It is a Thursday. It has been a long, hard day slogging through important people from Bruce’s past as well as personnel files of military employees who were present during Bruce’s experiment that transformed him. Darcy sorts through the cases from today; Bruce has been particularly fretful about a cell biologist named Samuel Sterns, a professor at Grayburn College. Sterns apparently died according to an account in the Times, killed in the same lab accident that transformed Emil Blonsky into a monster.

She says _apparently dead,_ because when they went to view his death certificate at the Municipal Archives-

“Cool! Can we go undercover? You can totally be his long-lost brother, and I can be his estranged, yet sophisticated younger sister who’s been away at private university in Paris for the last two years-”

He had grinned slyly at her. “No need for aliases, Darcy. Death certificates are available to the public.”

“Dammit.” 

-they were denied.

“Those records should be available to the public to view,” Bruce addressed the dismissive lady at the archive counter. Darcy was impressed with Bruce’s handling of the woman. She was sorely testing Darcy’s own trigger finger; Darcy itched to pull her Taser out and see whether a few hundred volts of electricity would brighten Ms. Cranky Pants’ mood. Perhaps a surprise appearance by the Hulk might also work wonders.

“They _are_ , Doctor Banner.” She enunciated every word precisely, and Darcy’s eyes grew wide as she caught Bruce flexing and releasing his fist. “I would have no problems showing them to you if we had a record of it, but we have nothing on file for Dr. Samuel Sterns.”

When they left the building, Bruce leaned against a wall, shut his eyes, and took several deep breaths. Darcy waited about five minutes before speaking to him.

“How about next time, I deal with sullen public employees?” Darcy asked. Bruce opened one eye and Darcy lost her breath over how cute his expression is. A tired, awkward smile crossed his lips

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

So, public records was a bust. 

The missing death certificate continued to bother both Bruce and Darcy for the rest of the day. He resolved to refocus their search tomorrow. “We may have to do some things that aren’t entirely legal,” Bruce said, cautiously, over lunch at a bistro across the street from the archives. 

Darcy brightened. “Can I wear a disguise? Or at least a jaunty fedora?”

“I really hate disappointing you, but we might not have to leave Stark Tower if we play our cards right.”

She pouted in dramatic, but she hoped sexy, fashion. “Drats!” Bruce flashed her a sympathetic smile.

Presently, it is the afternoon, and Bruce is getting ready to go down into the basement with Thor for a play date with the Hulk. It has been clear to her that, for the past half-hour, he’s been psyching himself up for this, as he has every Tuesday and Thursday the past few weeks. Prior to each date, Bruce grows quiet and retreats from her, from the rest of the world. He loses focus on work, and isolates himself in a far corner of his lab. He paces too, rubbing his hands together like he wants to rip all of his skin off. 

She feels an urge to wrap her arms around him, kiss his greying temples, and hold him while she reassures him that she cares. 

That is not what he needs right now, and she knows it. She knows he needs this release as much as she needs to watch him as the Hulk. He hasn’t told her about these dates yet, but she knows all about them, thanks to Natasha, Jane, and J.A.R.V.I.S. 

“I’ll finish up here,” Darcy tells him when he asks if she’ll be okay working alone for the rest of the day.

“Are you sure? If you need help with anything, leave it for me. I should be back later this evening. It’s, um… this thing… appointment... with Thor and Tony. I don’t exactly know when we’ll be done-”

She wants to roll her eyes at how bad he is at not drawing attention to the not-so-secret Hulk Smash appointment he has scheduled for today. Instead, she flashes him a large smile. “Go! Have fun. Try to keep both of them from blowing up half the tower. Remind Tony that Pepper would get angry.”

She shoos him away with her hand. Darcy is really good at faking things; she took one or two drama classes back in high school, so she knows how to play a role to its fullest. As this role calls for her to act like “normal Darcy,” she stays level and keeps her snark on. 

Bruce kisses her gently before he leaves, stopping right at the threshold of the sliding doors. “Can I… um… I want to ask you, uh, something...” He leaves the sentence hanging. She nods her head, urging him to get his words out, and speaks in a lofty, regal voice.

“I realize that I strike people dumb with my radiant beauty, totally used to it, but go on. Say what is on your mind, mortal.” 

This disarms Bruce, making him chuckle. “I realize that I haven’t even taken you out yet on an actual, real date?”

“Why, _fiddle-dee-dee_!” She puts on her best Southern belle accent. “ _Dr_. _Bannah_ , are yah askin’ me to the cotillion?”

Bruce laughs heartily. “I can’t promise you a cotillion, but I might be able to swing dinner and movie Saturday night, if that’s all right with you?” 

Part of her desperately wants to throw her arms around his neck, to smother him with her lips, his stuttering nervousness absolutely adorable and perfect and so very _Bruce Banner_. The other part remembers where he’s about to go, and that he is about to transform into the Hulk. The fear for him returns with a vengeance. Instead, she stays seated and she flashes what she prays is her winningest smile and fervently hopes mind-reading is not one of the Hulk’s powers. “Perfect.” 

Bruce nods bashfully and disappears. Darcy’s face falls, wondering what he does with all that anger that he stores inside himself.

When she gets the call from Natasha, she grabs her laptop, as she promised Bruce to finish up their work that evening, and makes her way down to the observation room. Natasha is already there. Thor and the Hulk are down in the training area. They have already started shaking the rafters and punching each other with all the force of dueling hurricanes.

Natasha hands Darcy a cup of coffee, which she sips on while staring at the epic bout below.  Jane appears after about five minutes, takes the spot next to Darcy and she too accepts a fresh cup of coffee from Natasha. These rituals twice a week are as routine for both of them as it is for their men. Darcy understands instantly why Natasha is there too. The spy is working through her own fears about the Hulk, she simply hides it far better than either Jane or Darcy. While Jane pounds away cup after cup of coffee, Natasha simply remains seated in her chair, running her hand over her bracelet, which looks like it’s constructed out of bullet-shaped cartridges.  

A loud roar shakes the room. Darcy jumps from her seat, clutching her laptop to her chest. "What the hell?"

“ _GOLDILOCKS!_ ” 

They look at each other and, as a single unit, they rush to the window. 

“He’s using nicknames now?” Natasha asks, her voice steady.

Darcy shrugs. “Tony must be rubbing off onto him.

Thor breaths heavily, not panting per se, but definitely showing signs of exertion. He tosses the hammer in his hand and it spins like a juggler’s club. The Hulk beats his chest and yells again. 

“You want more, Hulk? I am game!”

“Why is Thor egging him on?” Jane asks, a mixture of fear, exasperation, and nervous anticipation.

“Because he’s an idiot who’s basically invincible and immortal,” is Natasha’s reply. Darcy snorts and Jane glares at both of them.

Hulk lets out a deafening roar again, and this time… “ _HULK SMASH GOLDILOCKS! HULK MAKE ASPHALT OUT OF GOLDILOCKS LIKE HULK SMASH PUNY GOD!”_ Then, the Hulk smiles.

“Okay, well, that’s new.” Disbelief is evident in Natasha’s voice.

“H-he… he spoke in a complete sentence.” Darcy presses herself against the window, her attention no longer divided. “That’s never happened before?”

Natasha shakes her head. “A sentence that long? Not to my knowledge, and I’ve studied practically every shot, screen, video we have of the Hulk.” She stares, hard, at Darcy. “I can show you that file too, if you’re interested.”

“I’ve already seen some things-” The internet is filled with video of the big green guy from the Battle of New York. Slowly, more sightings, more clips of the Hulk over the years have been trickling out too.

“These are classified. S.H.I.E.L.D. related.”

Darcy looks at Jane, who only shrugs.

“Should you even be showing them to me?”

“You _don’t_ want to see them?”

"Well, that's a dumb question." Darcy says, and ignores Natasha's flat stare.  

Work forgotten, she crosses her legs and sits directly on the floor of the observation deck. Natasha and Jane follow, taking a seat on either side of her, and the three women continue watching the fight below.


	8. Of The Past and Interesting Hats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce discovers what happened to Samuel Sterns. And he gets to first base with Darcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, I'm going to be mixing up the movie and comic canons of the Hulk's backstory, maybe throwing in a little Avengers:EMH in there as well. If I get anything wrong, feel free to let me know! Thanks!

It is late Friday evening. 

Bruce returns from the nearby Indian restaurant with an order of chicken tikka masala (“Super extra hot, with emphasis on the SUPER EXTRA!” Darcy had said), and vegetable korma, basmati rice, naan, and a couple of liters of pomegranate seltzer water.  It’s not super fancy, but he’s trying to reserve the nicer stuff for tomorrow, for their first date.

The idea of which gives him heart palpitations and leaves his palms sweaty. He hasn’t done an official first date with anyone since… 

Well, since Betty. 

The fear that he will do something to screw this up, or worse, the _Other Guy_ will make a mess of things, retreats to the recess of his mind as he heads up the elevator toward his apartment. He thinks about opening doors for Darcy, picking up the check for dinner, and buying the biggest bucket of popcorn at the theater. Small things he missed out on while going on the run. Small, and yet so _normal_. They were things he stopped doing with Betty, long before he became the Hulk. It was a huge mistake, he sees now.  If there is one thing he took for granted before he became the Hulk, it was the simple act of going out on a date. 

He laughs at the absurdity as he steps onto his floor of the tower. In a way, the Other Guy has helped him learn to appreciate the little rituals of dating behavior. 

Walking into his apartment, Bruce smiles at Darcy. She hasn’t moved from her spot in his living room; she's on her laptop. Elastic bands hold her thick hair up and her glasses perch precariously on the tip of her nose.

“Hi honey. I’m home.” Bruce puts the sacks of steaming, spicy Indian food on the counter of his spacious kitchen, and he starts organizing the take-out containers. Holding her finger up, she types rapidly, pounding every key as if they have levied a volley of insults at her. 

“And done!” Darcy exclaims with a vicious stroke. She straightens out her “yummy sushi” pajama pants, and vaults over the sofa, throwing her arms around him with carefree abandon.

Darcy always surprises him with how little she holds back. Every “Hello!”, every hug, every kiss is like she hasn’t seen Bruce in a month. It is all-consuming, and he hopes it won’t be taken away from him anytime soon.

“Hey!” She kisses his neck, and works her way to his mouth, grinning as her lips find his. “Extra spicy, right?”

He holds the Styrofoam tray up in front of her. “Of course.”

She lets out a squee, which Bruce thinks is absolutely adorable, which then leads him to ask himself when he started thinking things in terms like “adorable”. This whole having friends and dating thing is doing a number on him.

At this point though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

They eat and talk about random things that pop up while Darcy channel surfs, something she does during meals. Tony has sprung for every channel and every video streaming service available, and one of them is streaming four seasons worth of Fringe. Bruce has never been one for television, especially when the show in question plays fast and loose and fanciful with physics, but there’s a human element to Fringe that appeals to him, and he sympathizes a great deal with Walter Bishop’s character.

Darcy and he engage in an animated conversation about the Bishops, the feasibility of fringe science, and Darcy’s dismay that Olivia and Astrid aren’t a thing.

“I mean, would it _kill_ these TV show people to take a chance and have some chicks date each other every once in while? She has way more chemistry with Astrid than Peter.” She sticks some chicken and rice into her naan and dips the whole thing in masala sauce. It drips down onto her chin as she takes a bite, and Bruce finds himself wanting to throw her down on the couch and lick it off her face. Whether it is because she’s engaged in a very spirited discussion about Olivia and Astrid’s sexuality or whether it is simply the sight of her wiping her chin and licking the errant sauce off her fingers, Bruce has no idea. His breath shudders as he runs a hand through his hair and waves the sexually charged thoughts away. 

“I didn’t realize that was an issue,” he says, keeping his voice calm. “Of course, I was never a big television show person.”

“Seriously? But what do you _watch_?” As if that’s the only a person can do when at home.

“I watch the news, mostly to see if I was on it for any reason. I read a lot, meditated, learned a few new languages.” He glances at her sideways. “I didn’t have a lot of programming choices while I was on the run.”

Darcy winces. “Sorry… I didn’t even think when I said that-”

He waves it off and chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. It gave me a lot to catch up on. Unfortunately TV wasn’t one of those things.”

“Well, I can help you with that,” she offers with a smirk. “If there is one thing I’m sensational at, it’s TV show watching. There are some show that are even better than the movies that are coming out these days. Have you seen Mad Men?”  
  
“Um, no? Is that a comedy show?”

Darcy’s eyes grow wide and she bounces up and down in her seat. “That’s it! We’re marathoning the _hell_ out of Mad Men. It'll blow your mind! Breaking Bad too. Battlestar Galactica's a good one-”

“I used to watch that when I was a kid.”

“Oh no. This one’s new and it’s got sex and violence and politics all up in it. It’s phenomenal.” He’s not sure if sexed-up version of a show he liked when he was a child is his thing or not, but he lets Darcy rattle off more shows until Bruce feels his head spinning. When she starts in on the wonders that is Joss Whedon, she makes it as far as Buffy before he interrupts her.

“In between all these shows you want me to watch, we _are_ going to get some work done, right? Because that is kind of important.”

She smacks him lightly on the chest. “Cheeky. Yes, of course. Speaking of work, I found some stuff about your Dr. Crawford.” Opening her laptop, she taps a couple of keys before handing it over to him.

“Hiding some pages you don’t want me to see?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Darcy waggles her eyebrows.

Bruce takes over the laptop, reading Darcy’s notes and trying to not think about _that_ comment, which is a gargantuan effort.

“You knew him personally, right?”

He nods. “I did. Do. He’s still alive, as far as I… wait.” Bruce’s brow darkens, and he looks back up at her. “He’s really been missing since 2009?” 

Darcy nods solemnly. 

He presses his fist against his mouth, his stomach dropping at the news. It is never good to hear that someone one once knew, especially a scientist as brilliant as Dr. Geoffrey Crawford, has gone missing. A sense of dread, of unease, spreads inside Bruce, but it's too ephemeral, too undeveloped for him to fully latch onto it. “Damn. That’s horrible.” Those are the only words he can say about the missing doctor.

“Up through 2009, he had a couple articles come out in journals, and he made at least one public appearance at a physics conference.”

“That’s not surprising,” Bruce adds, breaking out of his funk. “Geoffrey was suffering from a very rare degenerative nerve disease. The last time I saw him, he was wheelchair-bound. Yet, he was never, ever one to slow down, even when he was at his sickest.”

“Sounds like a cool guy.”

He nods. “He was. Is.”

“So, first thing’s first.” Darcy is in the kitchen, pulling out a mug. “Cocoa?” 

Bruce shakes his head. “No thanks.” 

“You sure? I make it extra-chocolately and with _all_ the marshmallows that can possibly fit into these mugs.” She raises the cup, which is roughly the size of her head. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay. So when did you see him last?” Darcy asks over the beeping of the microwave. 

Bruce thinks about Darcy’s question, tracing through the darker years of his life on the run, and he coughs because… awkward. It is awkward mostly because it involves Betty. Though he is rusty at relationships, he knows Darcy does not need every single painful detail of this period of time, like how he sent Betty flowers from every state, every province he landed. How that simple act of one-way correspondence during those first few years on the run kept him alive, kept his hopes up that he could return to her a restored man. How, during that time, the absence from her had grown so wholly unbearable that he had to sneak back stateside, to Virginia, to see her again even if only from a safe distance.

Which is how he found himself at his old mentor’s doorstep, desperately seeking a cure.

“September, 2007 was the last time I saw him. I had been moving around the US and Canada back then.” He scrubs the back of his neck with his hand. “He seemed to be doing okay mentally, but I could tell the toll the disease was wrecking on him physically.”

Darcy sits back down on the couch with her mug of cocoa, marshmallows, so many of them, bobbing like little white puffs in a little lake of chocolate. She tucks her legs underneath her and sips away, attention fully on him. “Must’ve been important to see him, since you had the Army on your tail.”

Bruce flinches and avoids her eyes. “Those were the days I was looking for a cure. I was desperate. Back then, I would’ve walked through all nine circles of hell if it meant purging the Hulk from my body.” 

She leans over and cups his cheek gingerly with her hand, warm from her hot mug. Bruce meets her eyes with a smile, sad though it may be, and tips his head into her palm, letting himself enjoy the pressure of her touch on his skin.

“I wish I knew you then,” she says. “Sounds like you needed someone with you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m glad I didn’t know you, or these guys.” He gestures to the building, the team implied with his raised hand. “I wasn’t in any mindset to make friends or build relationships with people. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone in my corner back then, not where I was mentally.” 

“Still, though. It sucks that you didn’t have anyone.”

Bruce takes her hand and kisses her palm, smiling into her tender skin, a show of gratitude for her compassion. He continues on about Geoffrey. “He was a friendly face back then. Welcomed me. Tried to help me find a cure.”

“How?”

Releasing a breath, he leans over the coffee table and takes a long drink of his pomegranate seltzer. “He built this machine, quite an incredible device actually, called a Telepod System. He theorized that he could use it to filter out the gamma radiation from my body, pulling it out of my central nervous system, and separate me from the Hulk, restoring me to my original body.”

Darcy’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. “Like a hard reboot of an iPod?”

Bruce shrugs. “You could look at it like that, I suppose.”

“That’s… crazy! Like something out of a sci-fi movie.”

He does not argue this, because once he describes it out loud yeah, it absolutely sounds insane.

“It was too good to be true, obviously. He mapped my body’s genetic code and we worked on it for a couple of days, but ultimately, it wasn’t tenable.” He runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up haphazardly. “Ross and the Army caught up with me and I had to get out of there. I didn’t want to bring any more trouble to Geoffrey than I already had.”

Darcy peeks at him from above the rim of her mug. Setting her mug down, she scoots closer to him and snuggles into his side. She links her arms through his. He should be used to this by now. Her touch, the physicality of affection, shouldn’t still cause him to go into a nearly catatonic state, but his body stiffens uncomfortably every time.  Perhaps it is due to talking about the darker times of his past and Geoffrey Crawford, or maybe it's because he's thinking about Betty, and there is part of him that wants to retract from Darcy. However, he closes his eyes, counts down from twenty and relaxes. He even manages to wrap his arm around her shoulders and draw her toward him, into his chest. With her snug against him, he leans back onto the arm of the couch.

“So,” Darcy whispers, “why do you think he disappeared?”

Bruce nuzzles his face into her hair. Her shampoo, he finds, whatever it is, this fruity, sweet scent of her tresses, is so very much _Darcy Lewis._ It somehow manages to calm him, to center him in a way that little else has. He plays with it, letting his fingers gently massage the long, loose waves, marveling yet again at their softness.

“I don’t know. To be honest, I think it’s very likely it has something to do with me.” Bruce kisses the top of Darcy’s head. “Or his machine. We need to know where to look, or, possibly, _who_ to ask.” 

Darcy peeks her head up. “Huh?”

With a clever grin, Bruce replies, “You remember that stuff I said yesterday about doing something that wasn’t quite legal?”

She perks right up. “Yeah, what?”

He jogs over to his laptop, which has been stowed away from Darcy’s reach on his desk next to the dining area. It comes alive under Bruce’s fingers, and he shows her what he’s been working on.

“You’re _hacking_ into a hospital?”

“Well, into the hospital Sterns was taken to, according to the article in the Times. I figured we need to fill in the gaps and figure out why he doesn’t have a death certificate.” 

Darcy gapes at him, but quickly recovers from her shock. “Holy crap, that is some bad-ass Sneakers-level awesome right there.”

“Sneakers?”

“Robert Redford. Ben Kingsley. Computer hackers.”

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds familiar.” Bruce returns his attention to the screen. He pauses, waiting for the script he just constructed to infiltrate the hospital website and bypass their firewalls. Bruce turns around in his chair. “It’s a skill that came in handy when I was on the run, to misdirect the Army about my whereabouts.” 

Darcy kisses him on the cheek, rubbing small circles on his skin with the tip of her nose. Bruce makes note of this; while Darcy is typically a very physical, affectionate person, she becomes even more so when he talks about his past, or anything involving the Hulk. If she’s doing it on purpose, whether to encourage him to open up more about everything that came before, or to comfort him because, well, everything that came before sucks that much, he does not know. Once he allows himself to relax into each kiss, each embrace, he lets her in. Her touch soaks into his skin, and cherishes it. He-

He swallows and stills under her embrace. It crosses his mind, briefly, a little flitter of thought, of emotion, and he cannot control it, although it passes quickly. Instead, he crooks his finger under her chin and urges her head up level to his.  Bruce kisses her, a little harder, a little more passionately than before. She whimpers into his mouth as his hand snakes around the back of her head, and she falls, back onto the couch, pulling him flush with her body.

He wants her. Like, _wants_ her, wants her. Every nerve in his body snaps to attention and his hands sneak under her shirt, touching her bare belly. She jumps and lets out a muffled moan in surprise.

“S-sorry, I-”

“Gah! Bruce, don’t stop,” she says, her voice aching and pleading. She kisses him, forcefully, and arches her back to loosen her shirt. Wriggling underneath him, to Bruce’s shock and arousal, she holds the hem of her worn T-shirt in her fists. She pushes against Bruce and, as she takes her lips off of his, she rips the shirt over her head. 

Bruce stares for a moment, blinks, thinking she is not real, not panting in front of him, half-naked, her black bra-

Darcy Lewis. Bra. Skin. Breasts. Beautiful. 

His brain processes all of this in front of him in fractions of a second, and all he can do is stare, unable to speak. She is gorgeous. More than he ever imagined, and he had imagined this often and alone, in short bursts, causing him to find repose in meditation. With a shaking hand, he slowly brings his fingertips to the hollow at the base of her neck, and glides them down her chest. 

“Bruce?” Darcy asks him. She bites her lip nervously.

God, that lip biting, Bruce thinks. He’s panting now, too, harder and faster than Darcy. He crashes their lips together, his hand tight around the back of her head. She moans, her mouth muffled against his neck. He feels her fingers twisting and twining through his hair, moving down the smooth valley of her chest. He feels satin fabric, her black bra, and her stomach, curved and cool, through his threadbare shirt… It’s so _good_ , the release of years of pent-up sexual energy. He presses further, encouraged by her moans, her insistent whimpers telling him more… _more..._

He feels the sudden familiar push out from the abyss, the growl, low and primal, growing louder, more insistent. His eyes fly open and Darcy’s staring at him. Terrified.

“Y-your eyes… they’re green.”

“Shit! Oh _nononono...no…_ ” Bruce jerks back, as if Darcy’s skin electrocutes him. He squeezes his eyes shut and sits curled in on himself, his face buried in his chest. He hears, doesn’t see, Darcy get up from the couch. In the middle of his silent countdown, his visualization techniques to keep him away from the precipice, he hears a trickle of water from the kitchen sink.

His mind slowly regaining control, he breathes, slowly, deeply. He unfurls his body, right as Darcy returns, shockingly, to her spot on his couch. Her shirt is back on, of course. She holds out a glass of water and smiles at him, though he sees it does not quite reach her eyes.

 _I don’t always get what I want_.

His words to Natasha echo in his mind. It is not just about sex, but about normalcy. Dating, romance, sharing, love… This, right here, is why he denied himself those things all these years. It is why he keeps doubting whether this thing with Darcy is a good idea, whether it is fair to her. Be selfish, Tony had said. How could he be selfish if he was going to terrify her? That look in her eyes…

“Water, Bruce.”

Her voice breaks his thoughts. “Thanks,” he replies hoarsely. He sits upright and takes the water, draining the glass and setting it aside. 

“Darcy-”

“Crazy, huh?” she interrupts. 

“Yes, crazy. And-”

“No, just… I know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?” He keeps his voice steady and even. “You’re an expert about what goes on in my head, now?”

She cocks her eyebrow. “Familiar words, Banner.”

“What can I say? I’m a good listener.”

She stares at him evenly, a serene smile on her lips. “It’s okay, you know? I respect your boundaries when you absolutely need me to respect them. I want to help you with your control over the Hulk. I definitely do not want to give up on us.” 

He brushes a few errant strands of hair away from her face. “I scared you.”

“You _surprised_ me.” There is a flash that crosses her eyes, something that Bruce notices when someone holds something back from him, isn’t completely truthful with him. He’s about to call her out on it when she continues talking. “Wasn’t expecting Jolly Green to try to make this a really weird threesome.”

Bruce nearly chokes on his own spit. “Th-threesome?’

She pats him on the back, her sneaky, sly grin slowly making an appearance. “You should be eased into the physical stuff. So, how about we start tonight.”

“Um…”

“What if I slept over? No funny business, no nookie. Just plain vanilla, innocent spooning.”

He blinks, wishing he had thought of that. It made sense, though. Much like his secret play dates with Tony and Thor to get the Hulk used to controlled transformations and vent steam, Bruce sees the logic behind Darcy’s suggestion.  The voice that tells him this is all a very, very bad idea still squawks in his ear, but the other voice, the selfish one, the one Tony Stark appealed to weeks ago, speaks louder. 

It tells him to go for it.

Darcy stands and holds her hand out.  He reaches for her, takes her hand and kisses her fingers. Then he gets up and lets her lead him to his bedroom.

When he reemerges from his bathroom, all ready for bed in a Culver University shirt and his own worn-out pajama pants, she is lying down on her side, facing him, smiling serenely.

“You look like the cat who ate the canary,” he says, crawling under the thick, plush comforter. 

She smirks. “It’s all part of my nefarious plan to sleep with you. I totally win.”

“When sleeping with me involves the possibility of the Hulk making an appearance, I think we all lose.” He lays down on his side, facing her. Darcy shifts closer to him.

“Think he can sit still for one night while we cuddle?”

“As long as I can keep my pulse rate down and don’t get too excited, I’ll be okay.”

She spins around in the bed and presses her back into his curved frame, her body fitting perfectly against his chest. “If you can’t control yourself when I’m wearing my ‘yummy sushi’ pajama pants, then we have bigger problems than Jolly Green.”

He laughs, again letting his face snuggle into her hair. Darcy Lewis is beautiful, he thinks, and although many men, and probably many women, would say that her cleavage was her best asset, Bruce realizes he loves her hair. All soft and wavy and thick and scented like fruit. It invites him to get lost for a while. Then there is her smile, because she has a thousand different ways of smiling, all so revealing about what she is thinking at any given moment. She is an open book. It’s what he loves most about her... 

There it is again. That feeling, that thought that flitted through his head when they were on the couch. It returns, and this time it lingers for a little longer than before.

_Love._

He smiles for a moment, but it leaves his face. It’s too soon. She’s too young, and he’s too old, and feeling _that_ right now is a horrible thing. It was his idea, after all, to take things slow, and here’s his heart, refusing to follow his own advice. 

Bruce stuffs it all back into the dark corners of his mind, hoping the Other Guy gives it a little bit of room. He will not mention anything at all to Darcy, because it is too foolish and too fast and… 

Just _because_. It’s him and it’s too complicated. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Darcy’s soft, steady breathing.

 

###

 

Bruce opens his eyes as the sun peeks through the curtains of his bedroom. A fluttering of sweet-scented hair tickles his face, and he smiles, realizing the pleasant pressure of Darcy’s warm body is pinning him down. It’s been a long time since he woke up next to someone else, and he does not want to leave the bed, does not want to leave her.

But then he remembers the program he started running last night on his computer. He should be able to quickly hack into New York Presbyterian’s system and get the answers he needs regarding Sterns. He can be back in bed, back to Darcy, before she realizes he's gone. Reluctantly, he scoots his arm, gently, out from under her and he gets up out of his bed, shutting the door to his bedroom behind him.

His laptop on and unmoved from the coffee table where he left it last night, Bruce sits down on the couch with a mug of hot tea. Clicking a few buttons, he gets to the screen he needs. Bruce bypasses the password firewall, and a few seconds more…

Got it. He types in Sterns’ name. 

Nothing. 

He tries the other hospitals in the area. Nothing again. No record of Sterns shows up after the attack 

Bruce narrows his eyes.  Except for the mention of Sterns’ death in the Times article, there is no death certificate, nor is there any record of Samuel Sterns’ admission to nearest medical centers. At this point, he simply wants verification that the scientist has, indeed, died, as cold-hearted as that sounds. Mr. Blue, when he finally met him, struck him as a man too focused on the goal, and not the method, of scientific discovery. The biologist was more than willing to overlook the ethics of his practice to achieve certain ends, not someone Bruce should've entrusted with samples of his blood.

Sitting back on the couch, Bruce tries another tack. Long shot, maybe, and after his history with them, he is loathe to ask for any assistance, even if two of his fellow Avengers are (former) agents. First, he checks back in on a still-sleeping Darcy. She is snoring away, her hand flapping at the air against some imagined slight annoying her in her dreams. He laughs, writes her a note, and makes sure she’s covered up completely with his comforter. Bruce kisses her temple just before he closes the bedroom door behind him.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.” Bruce ask in the hallway outside his apartment.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Are either Natasha or Clint up?”

 

###

 

Bruce sets his tea on the coaster on top of the kitchen island. He sits across from Natasha Romanoff, who eats a bowl of yogurt, berries and granola for breakfast. Her gold bracelet, made out of long ovals resembling bullets, clink against the counter when she sets her hand down. Steve Rogers, who wasn’t on Bruce’s agenda for the morning, is there as well, eating eggs, four scrambled, and a handful of bacon. He quietly sketches, his paper on his lap, eyes flittering up every so often to the other two Avengers.

No one speaks for a few moments after Bruce asks Natasha the question. The sound of granola crunching in Natasha’s mouth resonates around them. She stares at him, neither friendly or angry.

“I understand that some of the information might be classified, but I just want to know, Natasha; does S.H.I.E.L.D. have anything at all on Samuel Sterns the night that the Hulk fought Blonsky in Harlem?”

Natasha sets her mug of coffee down on the island in the kitchen. Her hair still wet from her post-jog shower, she pulls it back away from her face, binding it tightly in a bun. 

“All of it is classified. However,” she says, her face softening. “I can tell you what happened to Samuel Sterns that night, as I was there.”  
  
Bruce’s face hardens. Cap stops drawing and looks up, attention completely focused on the conversation before him.

“What do you mean?” Bruce works to keep his voice, his tone, free from the icy bitterness that normally fills it when he gets angry. Although, at this point, it might sound too smooth, like lacquer covering a textured, bumpy surface. 

Natasha’s brow creases, and for the first time, Bruce sees tangible regret cross her face. “It was part of my job, tracking you. I took over for Sitwell when he got caught up in another job. I tracked you down to Culver University, and then followed both you and Dr. Ross to New York.” When she looks at him, her eyes are filled with remorse. No tears, as Natasha does not cry, but there is regret there, for what Bruce can only assume was her role in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s involvement with tracking the Hulk and concealing that from him.

“I found Sterns in his lab. He was very much _not_ dead, but horribly injured.”

“Bruce, I’m sorry to interrupt, but why are you interested in this man?” This is Steve, who is now fully engrossed in the story.

Bruce takes a breath, and just as he’s about to answer, there’s a voice behind him, familiar, although very froggy. 

“Needs coffee.”

The three turn around, and Bruce smiles as Darcy, her hair mussed from sleep, her pajama pants wrinkled and hanging low on her hips, stumbles into the kitchen.  She is very much not a morning person; he normally sees her after she’s had some coffee. At least five or six cups.

Natasha nods toward the French press. “Should still be hot.” 

Giving her a thumbs up, Darcy drags her body over and grabs a big mug, making her way over to the counter where the three Avengers are seated. She takes a moment to flash a very small, sly smile at Bruce behind her cup, and winks at him. He takes it to mean she got his note and did not think he abandoned her alone in his bed.

“What’re y’all talking about? Who’s Bruce interested in?”

“We were talking about Sterns,” he replies. “Turns out, Natasha and S.H.I.E.L.D. took him the night he supposedly died.”

“No _way_!” Bruce has to suppress a laugh at how quickly Darcy perks up with the Sterns-S.H.I.E.L.D connection. “So, you guys have him?”

Natasha shuts her eyes and sighs. “First, I want to return to Steve’s question; why are you two so interested?”

Bruce turns to meet Darcy’s eyes; she does the same, and she gives him a look suggesting, “Go for it.”

He explains his history with Sterns, as well as the lack of a proper death certificate or any medical information, along with the project of finding gamma-irradiated people. At the end of all his explaining, Steve nods. 

“That’s one helluva good idea, Bruce. It’s proactive, and smart.”

“I’m not saying that all gamma-mutants will somehow turn evil. I know there are already two, maybe three, persons infected by the same gamma radiation that created the Hulk. They are living, breathing, _thinking_ weapons of mass destruction, and they desire nothing but more power. Not exactly team players, and not exactly looking out for the best interests of others.”  He scruffs his fingernails through his hair, feeling slightly agitated, as he normally does when he thinks about his fight with Blonsky that nearly decimated Harlem. “Many people don’t know how to manage that much power when it takes over their body. Believe me, I know.”

“It’s a good thing you’re learning to live with the Hulk, then, and that we have someone like you on our side,” Steve smiles at Bruce, and he cannot help but reciprocating the gesture. Bruce has a hard time believing the man is twenty years younger than him, no matter the added years that Rogers was on ice. He walks with an air of authority, of command, something he's possessed ever since Bruce met him. There is an memory, drenched in the all-too-familiar green haze, that Captain America gave the Hulk orders during the Chitauri battle. If that's true, and he really does not doubt that it actually happened, he gives Cap props; anyone who can do that without batting an eyelash deserves respect. 

Yet, he is also Steve Rogers, a genuinely good man. Even with all of Tony's name-calling and pig-tail pulling, the worst Stark can say about Cap as a person is that he’s boring. Bruce thinks Steve genuinely kind. His old-fashioned idealism is a welcome counterpoint to Tony’s pragmatic, egotistical bravado.

“I appreciate that, Steve. Truly, I do.” Bruce turns to Natasha. “Your turn.”

She shifts on her stool, straightening her back and folding her hands in front of her on the counter. “Like I said, I found Sterns in his lab, critically injured, but he was… changing. For lack of a better term. He was infected with your blood.”

Bruce stills completely; nary a breath can be heard in the room. 

“Come again?” he asks slowly.

“Your blood must’ve entered him, somehow," Natasha says, and Bruce notices the caution with which she speaks. "Sterns talked, much of it rambling, about how he was transforming, his future unfolding, filled with power and influence and so on, delusion after delusion. I incapacitated him, as he did not develop the superstrength that the Hulk and Blonsky possessed, and S.H.I.E.L.D. brought him in for treatment. We also provided a cover story to the press that Sterns had died in the accident in his lab. However, that was not my department.” She mutters under her breath, “ _Amateurs._ ”

He runs a hand down his face, as Darcy lets out a low whistle. 

Cap, for his part, leans forward, arms and elbows on the table, hands gripped together in a fist in front of him. “So Sterns is a gamma mutant? That’s what you’re saying.”

Natasha nods at Steve. “Our initial reports when we brought him in showed extensive gamma mutation at the cellular level. The contaminated blood entered his system and metastasized quickly. Within an hour, his entire physical appearance had changed. His head enlarged, and his skin had turned the same green as the Hulk’s, which is why I draw the conclusion that it was Bruce’s blood, not Blonsky’s, that infected Sterns. The likeliest point of origin, our physicians surmised, was a large wound on Sterns’ head; they indicated that Bruce’s blood would’ve found an easy path into Sterns' neurological system from there.”

Bruce takes a few breaths, calming himself down. He feels, does not see, Darcy’s eyes on him, and he wants to reach out for her, grab her, hold her close to him, to keep the gnawing anger away. 

He bites his lip, readying himself for the next part of the question. Keeping his voice dull, he asks it. “Where is he now?” Darcy’s eyes dart back and forth between Natasha and Bruce.

“That is where things get… complicated.” 

“Oh, it’s _not_ already complicated?” Bruce jumps off his stool and paces around the kitchen area. “I just found out I’m responsible for contaminating a scientist who had been keeping vials of my blood secreted away and using them to test on animals without telling me. A brilliant man with a shady history of ethical practices received gamma powers from _my_ _blood_." He laughs, an abrasive, bitter scoffing sound. "This got pretty damn complicated before I even moved in here and came up with the idea to track down gamma mutated freaks like me.”

“Bruce-” Darcy is by his side, her hand sliding into his, giving his a squeeze. He snaps his head in her direction. Her eyes, full of concern, gaze up at him, and she cups his cheek with her free hand. She repeats his name softly, like a mantra, a balm to soothe the growing heat of his anger.  He shuts his eyes, and sees the fury as it marches backwards into the mental abyss, behind the structures he erected to keep the Hulk in control.  The Hulk complies this time, and Bruce considers rewarding the big guy with a little extra time in the training room this weekend.

He doesn’t much care at this point what Natasha and Cap think about his relationship with Darcy. With his eyes shut, he leans forward taps her forehead, gently, with his own. 

“Thanks,” he says, under his breath. Darcy gives him a small smile. When he looks up, he sees Steve standing at the ready in case he needed to make a move. Natasha’s hand is on her wrist, and the gold bracelet Bruce sees on her arm flares to a brilliant neon blue. Her Widow’s Sting. He hasn't seen them in action, but he does not believe she has tried to use them on the Hulk. Yet. 

He's one-hundred percent certain that she would use them if she felt she needed to.

Bruce doesn’t let go of Darcy; instead, he walks back toward the island, still holding onto her hand like it’s his life line. “Sorry. I… I saw him use my blood used to create more monsters, more gamma mutants from animals. Now I hear it’s happened to Sterns himself…” He shakes his head. “It’s like walking into my worst nightmare.”

He feels Darcy lean into his shoulder, her lips through his threadbare shirt. There is a flash of comprehension in Cap’s eyes, and he turns abruptly away, ostensibly to give them a little privacy. Natasha, however, looks unmoved, unsurprised. He chalks that up to her simply being Natasha.  

Once he regains composure, Bruce sits back down at the island, as does Darcy, who gives his hand a squeeze before snagging Natasha’s bowl of granola, yogurt, and berries, left abandoned in the middle of the table. Natasha glares at her for a moment, but instead of threatening Darcy with bodily harm, she goes to the fridge and returns with more of each. Darcy grins and reaches first for the yogurt. Natasha rolls her eyes, and the whole exchange leaves Bruce wondering whether all the training and exercising Natasha has been forcing on Darcy has suddenly forged a new friendship, despite Darcy venting her spleen about the assassin after every workout.

“So, before that little… thing,” Darcy says in between bites of raspberry-and-blueberry-splashed yogurt and granola, “when you said where Sterns is now gets complicated-”

“It gets complicated because,” Natasha sucks in a breath, “Sterns broke out of our custody a month later.”

Bruce says nothing; he sits frozen, blinking at this admission. He is afraid if he says anything, the precarious détente he’s established between himself and the big guy will shatter.  

Steve, however, asks the next question for him. “How did that happen? I assumed S.H.I.E.L.D. has impenetrable security measures, making a breach impossible.”

“Except for that one time Loki wormholed his way into a S.H.I.E.L.D.-operated facility.” Tony Stark strolls into the kitchen, snagging an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a very crunchy bite. “Well, I'm right, aren't I? What are we talking about here, anyway?” 

Natasha shakes her head. “Normally, yes. Breaking out of a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility would be all but impossible. However, Dr. Sterns developed telekinesis and mind control abilities during his stay. He took over the minds of the agents who were guarding him, and they facilitated his escape.” She draws her eyes down to the floor, and her brow falls. “We found two of the agents dead shortly after. We assumed he killed them, for whatever reasons.”

“Dude,” Darcy whispers. Bruce slumps over, already feeling tired from the day, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

“Just so I get this straight, there is a mad scientist with several ethical clouds to his name who has my blood in his system, which has given him telekinetic and mind controlling abilities. S.H.I.E.L.D. had him in custody but he got out, and now he’s running loose somewhere in the world.” He ticks off each point with a finger, casting a glance over at Natasha, who nods solemnly.

Tony whistles. “Telekinesis and mind control? That sounds like the absolute _worst_ Supervillain Power Bingo card ever. All he’s missing is super strength. Or shape-changing.”

At this point, Bruce thinks, that’s about the only positive news in this whole mess.

 

###

 

Despite everything, despite the insanely bad, scary update Natasha gave him regarding Sterns, Bruce makes good on his date with Darcy. In fact, looking forward to the date is one of the few things that manages to keep him calm throughout the rest of the day. Tomorrow, Bruce thinks, he’s going to give the Hulk a little more face time in the training room. That he made it through the conversation with Natasha without the Hulk breaking through those barriers, Bruce considers it a victory. He also considers it significant that he calmed down when things started heating up Darcy. 

It is only fair to give the Hulk a chance to play. Almost like walking a dog after a long period of being locked up in a house. It’s a stupid analogy, but it almost amuses Bruce to think of the Hulk like an errant pet. 

Almost.

But, first, their date tonight. There are a couple of hiccups, though, as he gets ready. Tony corners him after breakfast, after Darcy heads off to wake up Jane for their weekend training session with Natasha. “So, your big date tonight-”

He marvels at how Tony somehow manages to be completely omniscient. “How in the world did you know?”

“I asked J.A.R.V.I.S. if you had any plans for tonight.”

“Ah.”

“He also informed me you made reservations at some cheesy Italian dive about four blocks from here?”

“I Googled it,” Bruce replies defensively. Tony stares at him with pitying, patronizing eyes.

“That’s adorable. J.A.R.V.I.S. already took the liberty to cancel it and set you up at _Le Bernardin_. Dinner’s on my account. Tell Jacques the reservation is under my name, for you and Miss Lewis. They will take _better_ than perfect care of you.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably. “You didn’t have to do this, Tony.”

Stark ignores him and continues blabbering away. “Also, tell Eric, ‘Tony says: _That one night in Monaco_ …”  Tony smacks him on the chest. “He knows what I’m talking about. It’s a helluva story! You do have a suit, right? Oh my God, you _don’t_?”

And for the rest of the day, Tony takes Bruce shopping, in extravagant, luxurious fashion. 

Bruce makes sure J.A.R.V.I.S. tells Darcy about the updated arrangements and that she may need to put on her fancy dress. 

“Give her apologies from me, please J.A.R.V.I.S. Tell her _Tony_ made me do it.”

“She will certainly understand that, Doctor.” 

By seven o’clock, he is at her door, simple brown bag in hand, wondering if she was serious about wanting it or if he took one of her jokes and ran it into the ground. The suit he wears was somehow tailored and finished by four in the afternoon; Bruce suspects that it is not unusual for Tony to barge in at a moment’s notice to demand something completely bespoke in under an hour and to pay thousands of dollars to get the job done. He doesn't want to think about how much the suit costs, although he believes that it costs more money than he ever spent during his time on the run. Which is just plain sad. 

Despite the drama from earlier this morning, Bruce vows to put it out of his mind. He won’t bring up Sterns or even Crawford. Tomorrow, he will refocus his efforts on the two men. Tonight, he wants no distractions. 

The door slides open. The woman leaning against the doorframe ensures that not a single thought will be wasted on any other scientists, possible gamma freaks, or the cost of Tony's wardrobe tonight. 

Darcy stuns him speechless. Her hair is long and loose, curled like a 1940‘s movie starlet. She is a vision in red and black, from the scarlet lipstick to the blazingly red sleeveless top that heaves her fantastic breasts to gravity-defying heights. Her creamy, curvy legs pour out of her filmy black skirt, ruffling and twirling around her knees. She lifts one foot off the ground, gently rubbing the tip of her bright red toenails along the back of her leg.  He sees that her black shoes have a complicated system of buckles and straps and wonders, fleetingly, if he doesn’t have a small shoe fetish after all. 

She carries her small purse and jacket over her arm. She had attempted to look all saucy and seductive, but she, too, appears to be taken by surprise at Bruce’s appearance. 

”Wow!” It is all she can muster. He doesn’t fare much better.

“I… you… you look absolutely…” _Goddamn._

“Handsome.” “Beautiful.”

They both laugh together, nervous and stunning.

“Um…” Darcy shakes her head in small, rapid motions. The gentle waves of her hair fall over her bare shoulder, and… _God_! Bruce breathes in and out slowly to steady his heart beat. “What’ve you got there?” 

The glorious appearance of Darcy makes Bruce forget about his stupid little gift. “Oh, it’s… it’s nothing. Just a small thing I really wanted you to have.” 

He can see the surprise pouring out of Darcy’s expressive eyes when he says this. “That’s not _nothing_. Thanks.”

Handing her the bag, Bruce chuckles. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen it. There is a chance you’ll find it ridiculous.” 

Darcy smacks him on his arm as she takes the gift. “Never.” She opens it up, rustles around the tissue paper, and there is a strangled squeal of glee coming from her mouth.

“No! You didn’t.”

“I wasn’t sure if you were serious about it when I asked for your help investigating…”

Darcy drops the tissue paper, bag, her purse and jacket on the floor and holds the black fedora up to examine it. 

“Dude, I _never_ joke about jaunty fedoras. I really wanted to go out and get one.” Darcy places the hat cocked on her head, so the brim covers her right eye. Bruce whistles softly; with her outfit, she looks like she’s ready to meet Humphrey Bogart on a fog-filled runway at any moment. When he finally manages to speak, he gives her his best Casablanca.

“Of all the Stark Towers in all the towns, in all the world, you walk into mine.”

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.” She tips the hat’s brim up with her finger and bops him softly on the nose. “This is fantastic. Thank you, sir.”

She tosses the brown bag just inside the apartment. Bruce, remembering his manners, picks up her purse and jacket, and helps her into it. He sees it is a short black trench-coat, which fits perfectly with the outfit, including the black fedora.

He offers her his arm. “Ready?” She takes it as the doors slide shut.

“Lead the way, Bogey.”

When they get inside the elevator, going down to the main entrance of Stark Tower, Bruce notices a couple of purpling bruises on her wrist.

“Darcy, what the hell?” He examines the injuries. “Those don’t look good at all.”

Her lips draw up the left side of her face, a sardonic smile. “War wounds.” She lifts up her skirt, and Bruce presses his knuckles against his lips to stop himself from swearing. There is a nasty looking yellow centered, purple edged bruise covering her thigh. Darcy moves her neck side to side, and he can hear it pop.  

“Natasha’s moved on to hand-to-hand with us.”

He winces. “I'm glad that she’s showing you this stuff, but I wish it came with less pain.”

Darcy smiles, this time with her entire face. “No pain, no gain.”

They make it to the front entrance of the building, and Bruce lets Darcy pass through the sliding doors first. He notices her walking with a slight limp, and he grimaces sympathetically. 

“Relax.” She pats his cheek. “It’s a small sprain. I iced it down earlier. You agree, though, if I ever run face first into some Blonsky-sized creature, I should be able to run the hell away, right? Oh, I can now run a eleven minute mile!“

“Congratulations, that’s great news. And I get everything that you said. I just wish it didn’t come with all these injuries. Also, if you’re _ever_ in the presence of anything remotely resembling Blonsky, you run all the way to the next state. Please.”

He tips her fedora up just enough to reveal her forehead to him, and he plants a gentle kiss right above her brow line. When he moves back, he’s pleased to see her pale skin blush from the show of affection.

They step outside to the sidewalk, the zip and zooming of cars and honking of horns of New York traffic filling the familiar air. He's about to hail a cab, when Bruce’s eyes catch someone waving at them.

“Dr. Banner! Miss Lewis! Over here.” Happy Hogan, leaning against one of Tony’s limousines, folds the newspaper he's reading and ushers them over.

“Happy? Hey, how are you?” Bruce offers his hand to the other man, and he shakes it.

“Doing great, Doc. So, time’s a-wastin’,” he says, as he pulls open the door to the limousine and gestures for them to step in. “Gotta get you to your reservation at eight.”

“What the _what_?” Darcy squawks. “ He’s giving us the limo too? Unbelievable.” Her voice is a mixture of shock, joy, and incredulity. 

“Whoa, whoa, Happy,” Bruce protests, hands waving in front of him. “I really appreciate the gesture, but we were just going to get a taxi.”

“Mr. Stark set this whole thing up. Just doin’ my job. So, please, I’m _beggin’_ you,” Happy says with fake desperation, “get in the car, so’s I won’t get fired.”

Bruce laughs. “I sincerely doubt Tony would fire you if we didn’t comply.”

“Well, it’s best not to test that out, okay?” 

Bruce stares at the vehicle, mutely shaking his head. It’s a grand gesture, and he knows that Tony means well, that he wants to make sure both him and Darcy are taken care of tonight, that he wants to ensure that this date goes perfectly for Bruce, and that he's really a generous guy. But he cannot help feel slightly patronized that Tony feels he needs to be taken care of, lavished with lab space and fancy suits and Michelin-star restaurants to impress a girl on a first date. Bruce is a grown fucking man, after all. His pride flares up momentarily, the voice in his head telling him, loudly, that he can make his own damn dates, wear his ratty suits, and eat at whatever crappy restaurant he feels like-

He looks over at Darcy, who flashes him a smirk. “Your _insane_ billionaire BFF can be too much sometimes. Have I also mentioned he's insane?”

Snorting, but granting her a smile, Bruce nods. “You read my mind.”

“Can we go ahead and get in, though?” she asks, the corners of her eyes crinkling, her smirk softening into a smile he knows is meant for him. “My hunger is warring with my pride right now, and my stomach’s winning.”

Resigned, but vowing to bring it up with Tony at some point, Bruce gives her a small peck on her temple. Then, as gracefully as he can, he gently urges her into the car with his hand on her back. “After you.”


	9. Of Binders and Surveillance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is determined to meet the Hulk. Also, Thor is totally her bro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be some delays due to real life stuff going on (NaNo, studying for the bar exam, taking care of an adorable but unruly infant LOL!), so I'm not going to be super regular with my present weekly schedule, but I do have a roadmap for this thing until the very end. And since I'm around 50,000 words so far, I don't want to leave y'all hanging with a WIP.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos! Please, keep the feedback coming. I want to know if things are right, wrong, stupid, crazy, etc.

“So, on a scale of one to _awesome_ , how would you-”

Bruce replies with no hesitation. “Awesome. Times infinity.” He says it in such mature fashion; how he can pull off making slang sound so dignified Darcy does not know. It makes her jealous.  

She stares at him suspiciously. “You didn’t even let me finish,” she says, folding her hands, leaning forward on the table. They are at the fried-French-toast diner, and it is the morning after their first official date. Truth be told, it is as if the date never officially ended, as Darcy spent the night in Bruce’s bed. Again. 

Nothing happened between them except for some making out, although, in the interest of building Bruce’s acceptance of intimate physical contact, Darcy’s hand made its way to his torso beneath his shirt, where it gently caressed his stomach, his back, his hips as he shuddered on top of her. 

She may have sneaked a quick squeeze of his butt too. 

It was so gentle, so chaste. Yet, Darcy could not think of anything more hot. She’d be lying to herself if she denied that the element of danger, which was always present when she was with Bruce, didn’t touch some wild kink of hers.  

Then she remembered the Hulk; she always remembers the Hulk. Whatever weird kink she thinks she has gets put right the fuck out.

Bruce unwraps his silverware and taps the handle of his knife on the thick grain of the rustic wood table. Darcy is still wearing the fedora Bruce gave her, but she is back to her typical wardrobe of dark jeans and boots. This time, though, Darcy has snagged Bruce’s old Culver University shirt, the one he sometimes wears to bed, and it smells of him. Wonderfully so that it takes every ounce of her willpower not to cover her face with it and breathe in his scent, some sort of heady mix of cinnamon, chamomile, and his own brand of ruffled masculinity. That last part shouldn't make any sense, but yet, it does to Darcy. One has to know Bruce Banner personally to know what his special fragrance of "ruffled masculinity" is, and it is _magical_! Bruce is in an adorably rumpled blue button-up and khaki pants that are just a wee bit too short. She runs her foot up his leg, cheekily grinning as he stumbles his order to their waitress.

“You have no idea what I was going to say,” Darcy says, sipping her coffee daintily after the waitress leaves.

“You weren’t asking about our date last night? Which I thought went splendidly.”

“What, I don’t get a _Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious_?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Bruce gives her his widest grin yet, one that gives her those heart palpitations that she desperately hopes he, or the Hulk, cannot hear.

“I was actually asking what you thought about me wearing your special shirt.” She pulls it up just enough for him to see it underneath her thin sweater.

He stares like he’s been sideswiped. “I… I didn’t know you stole that.” He falls back into the bench of their booth and chews his bottom lip. “I have to say it looks a whole lot better on you than it does me.”

Darcy smiles, and as she thinks about their date, it softens into something more shy and delicate. “I really did have a great time last night.”

“It was good to do something so normal. Like, go on a date,” Bruce adds.  She watches him swallow, as if the sudden swell of melancholy that fills his words is trapped in his throat.  He smiles the moment away, and isn’t that just so very _Bruce_. Bitter remorse masked in casual, smiling indifference. 

She hooks her finger through his. “You know that it’s also normal for people to go on more than one date, right? That is, if they want to.”

“I have heard of this tradition,” he replies, his face a dry smirk. “Since you slept over last night, and now you’re going to enjoy this incredibly fattening breakfast with me, I’m assume we will be seeing each other again. Romantically speaking, of course.”

“Outlook decidedly good.” She nods at him, finishing with a cheeky wink. 

“So long as you want to be seen with me,” Bruce adds with wrenching look of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Huh? Why the hell wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?” Darcy leans as far over as she can across their table.

“Look around you, here, in this diner.” Bruce spreads his hand out, and Darcy traces its path with her eyes. There are many young people, college-age students, arty bohemian types with pencil-thin black jeans and scarves and knit caps, drinking their coffees and carrying their ambiguous bags and cases, filled with art or musical instruments or books. Their cares, their worries are so far removed from their lives, from all that she now knows. 

“So?”

He hesitates, hands tugging on his hair, scratching his head. He’s clearly searching for how to say whatever is on his mind. “These people here, Darcy, they look like… like you have more in common with them, than you do with me. ”

“Uh huh.” She knows where this is going.

“We haven’t talked about the age issue between us.”

She shrugs. “Age issue. I didn’t realize there _was_ an age issue. What’s there to talk about?”

“I’m two decades older than you.”

Darcy straightens her back. “Shut the front door!” 

Bruce smiles, a small, embarrassed smile, but shakes his head. “I’m serious. The age difference, Darcy-”

“Look, I read your file, I did the math before we even met.” Darcy nods a thanks to the waitress as she sits a stack of fried French toast drenched in bacon, butter, and maple syrup in front of her. Bruce, as a treat to himself, has ordered the same thing, sans bacon and butter.

“And none of that bothers you?” Bruce takes his first bite, and she smiles watching the deliciousness overwhelm him, his eyes shutting, his mouth letting a pleasure-filled moan escape. She wonders, briefly, if there is any resemblance between this Bruce Banner and Bruce Banner when he’s _in flagrante delicto._

“No, it doesn’t.” She can hear the slight breathlessness in her voice, and she reminds herself to think the dirtier thoughts about Bruce when she’s _away_ from him, not when she’s in the middle of an important conversation. “When I first met you, I saw a genius with fluffy hair, lean arms, and that little bit of chest hair peeking from underneath his shirt, and I kind of wanted to get to know him better.”  She digs into her own plate, and yeah, the French toast is as spectacular as ever. Damn. “The more I got to know you, the more you made me laugh, which is, like, instant turn on.”

Bruce arches his eyebrow. Darcy continues, undaunted in her mission to get him to see _Bruce Banner_ exactly the way she sees him. “I see all this goodness around you.” She swirls her fork, on which a dripping piece of toast rests, at his face. His smile lingers, even as he lets his eyes drop down to his own meal. “And _y_ _ou_ , you big brilliant dork, are the reason I want to date you. Age ain’t nothin’ but a number.”

“So, you’re not embarrassed to be here with me, a…” He sucks in his bottom lip. “A broken, middle-aged head-case with a major Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde complex?” 

“But those are my favorite kinds of head-cases!” 

Bruce is silent for a moment, looking at Darcy like she had just spouted another head. Then, he laughs. “I don’t know where you came from, or how you and I ended up together, but I'm glad you're here with me.”

Darcy rolls her eyes, smiling at him because he really needs the reassurance. “Someday, you’re going to see yourself the way I see you. No, you don’t embarrass me. At all. In fact-” 

Swallowing her last bite, she jumps over to his side of the booth, grabs both sides of his head, and pulls him toward her, tasting the cinnamon and maple syrup coating his lips.  

“There,” she says, pulling away, albeit reluctantly. “Does that look like I’m embarrassed by you?”

She moves back over to her side of the booth, leaving him blushing but imminently pleased with the whole thing. She believes, that she is getting closer to breaking through his insecurities. She would love nothing more than to pack away all his nasty baggage, throw it into the Hudson, never speak of it again.  It is a Herculean task, she knows. She gets it. She wants to do it. 

Although, there is the pesky issue of getting over her fears about the Hulk.

She thought she was close to getting over it, but the scares this weekend showed her she still had a ways to go. Especially when Bruce finally decided to launch himself on her, and boy! Wasn’t that a surprise? First, she was absolutely into it. Completely. Never had been more into anything in her entire life.  

Then she saw his eyes turn. 

Darcy didn’t mean to show so much fear, and she certainly didn’t want him to see all that terror when he looked at her with those eyes. Yet, it rose so quickly and infected her so thoroughly that she couldn’t hide it. Knowing that Bruce saw it in her made Darcy feel horrible.

Darcy recognizes she still has an epically long way to go. Many miles traveled. Many more ahead. 

They sit silently for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts, their own plates of sticky breakfast. She casts her eyes at him, through lowered lids and maple syrup smiles. And he does the same as well.

 

###

  

Natasha finds them Monday morning. They are in the lab; Bruce is refining his tracking algorithms for gamma radiation to get a lock on Sterns’ whereabouts. Darcy and J.A.R.V.I.S. scan and pick apart Bruce’s Army files, locating other personnel who were present during Bruce’s accident. 

Romanoff clears her throat, and both Darcy and Bruce look up. She holds two binders, a thick silver one, and the other a thinner black, both shiny as if made of metal, and embossed with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on their covers. 

“Hey, Natasha,” Bruce says as she approaches them. He wipes his glasses on his shirt and makes his way over to her. Darcy asks J.A.R.V.I.S. to continue the search for personnel and she follows him. 

“About yesterday,” Bruce begins, “I’m sorry. I… S.H.I.E.L.D. is apparently still a sore spot for me.”

Natasha shakes her head, and he stops talking. “Don’t. You have no need to apologize to me.” She taps the binders together, drawing both their attentions towards them. Natasha holds the black binder out to Bruce first. “Here is all of S.H.I.E.L.D.‘s information on Sterns.”

He accepts it and immediately begins thumbing through the pages. Darcy notices the size of the thing is very deceptive; S.H.I.E.L.D. or Natasha or whoever was responsible for assembling it crammed a shitload of reports, images, investigations, surveillance into the skinny book. There is even an attached flash drive, hooked into the flap on the back cover. 

She hands him the other, thicker binder. “This is the other information.”

Bruce breaks away from Sterns’ file. “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

She purses her lips together and takes two deep breaths before talking. “Apparently, this was something above my pay grade. I didn't even know all the details about it myself until Fury gave me clearance.” Bruce hesitates reaching for it.

“Does the thing bite? Like, if you open it, will it self-destruct in five seconds.” Darcy takes a couple of steps back, out of caution, and tugs at Bruce's shirt to pull him away as well. Not that she thinks Natasha would bring anything explosive into the lab.

But... just in case. 

“Those are the tan ones.” Natasha says, her voice tart, her face mostly impassive except for the left edge of her mouth, quirked in amusement.

“Natasha Romanoff, bringing the funny. I’m impressed,” Darcy sing-songs as she takes the black binder from Bruce. The Widow flashes her a flat, completely dry look, and she turns back to Bruce, pointing at the silver binder with two fingers, steepled together. 

“What you have there is a file covering S.H.I.E.L.D. Project number 1138-GR. Known only to those with proper clearance as The Cube.”

Darcy watches Bruce skim through the materials, his eyes moving rapidly up and down page after page. She looks back at Natasha, her eyes flickering between the spy and Bruce. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. built a prison for gamma mutants.” 

She really does not like the ominous tone of Bruce’s voice. It is cold, like the metal tabletops exposed to the sterile air of his laboratory. Natasha notices the chill too, and she shifts her posture. Her fingers run across her bracelet, which Darcy knows is her Widow’s Sting. She hopes that there won’t be any need to use it, especially with her nearby.

“It was constructed initially as a S.H.I.E.L.D. holding facility for superpowered criminals, as the current prison system is incapable of locking up such individuals. After your fight with Blonsky, General Ross took him into military custody, but they had neither the resources nor the man power for long-term containment. The Cube did, however. Through an agreement between the Army and Fury, Blonsky is contained there, along with four other criminals who possess powers even I have trouble believing are possible.” 

Bruce blinks, processing the information Natasha has just given him. “Blonsky. He’s at this facility right now?”

The Widow nods. “His paperwork, the latest writeup from the staff psychologist is in there as well. Dr. Sampson is the head of psychology for The Cube, and he’s been quite successful.”

His head jerks up. “Did you say Sampson? As in Dr. Leonard Sampson?”

“Do you know him?”

Bruce sags and he looks over at Darcy. “Too well. Is Blonsky the only gamma mutant they have locked up in this facility?”

Darcy doesn’t miss the shift in tone as Bruce moves from Dr. Sampson back to Blonsky again. She also doesn’t miss the brief look from him as he answered Natasha. She makes a mental note to ask Bruce about Sampson later. Perhaps she could simply ask J.A.R.V.I.S. about this Dr. Sampson later.

“For now, yes. Once we locate Sterns, he’ll be secured in this facility as well. Our tech department has been working on a dampening unit customized for his unique power set.” Natasha closes the distance between her and Bruce, until she is almost a foot from him. 

“I had no idea about this facility, Bruce. I want you to know that. For what it’s worth, Fury said that part of the deal to bring Blonsky into The Cube was getting Ross to back off your trail. 

Bruce’s gaze travels to the floor. “Well, thanks, I guess. Although that didn’t last long, maybe a year.” 

“I know,” Natasha says with a voice far softer than the eyes staring back at him. “When he resumed his pursuit, S.H.I.E.L.D. misdirected him. With someone as blindly driven and obsessed as the general, it wasn’t so difficult. He was sloppy and made mistakes.”

Bruce makes no reply, but merely nods, shallowly.  He turns away and flips through the binder 

“You should also know that to facilitate bringing you this information, Fury has hired you as an official S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant on gamma radiation and mutation.”

 This captures Bruce and Darcy’s attentions immediately. “That’s not something I signed up for.” 

Natasha holds her hand up. “It was the only way to give you clearance necessary for this information. You will be _more_ than well compensated for you duties. You will have access to everything S.H.I.E.L.D. has on file, equipment, lab space-”

“Yeah, like that worked out so well last time.”

Natasha visibly blanches. “I’m sorry. Like I said, it was the only way to make sure you got the information you requested.”

For a moment, Bruce looks like he wants to say something else, but Darcy sees the hesitation, so plain on his face. He meets her eyes, almost as if he is asking for her help. She shrugs.

“Does this Fury guy want anything in return for Bruce to work with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” she asks. It’s the sole question that comes to mind. 

“Only an understanding that any criminals with gamma mutated powers will be contained in The Cube. Period.”

“How independent will this lab remain from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s authority?” Bruce inquires. 

Natasha’s face remains blank, and her brow flutters a little as she thinks of an answer. “I’m… not sure, to be honest. Do you want to set up a meeting with Fury? I can facilitate that.”

Again, he looks over at Darcy. “This is not just my decision.” 

She rapidly blinks, kind of _totally_ shocked. “Huh?”

“You’re my assistant.” He grins, wryly, at her. “Also, I value your opinion. What do you think about this?”

Well, Darcy thinks, shocked, isn't this an interesting development. She is grateful, pleased that Bruce thinks so highly of her. Respects her. It is a far cry from Jane and Erik’s lab; God bless them, but whenever she asked anything science-related, they normally stared at Darcy as if she had suddenly decided to strip down naked and roll in mud while doing the Chicken Dance. Granted, her questions were probably insanely stupid, especially to two scientists who had approximately a million-and-a-half degrees between them.

Then again, they could’ve been way more charitable with the only person who had agreed to be their lackey. Jane at least recognized this after Thor came into their lives and Darcy gave her the BFF she so desperately needed. And Erik was, well, gone before they could have any proper bonding moments. 

She tables all those memories and focuses on the very important inquiry in front of her. “You said S.H.I.E.L.D. and you don’t have the best relationship, right?”

Bruce laughs, and there is a flinty edge to it. “That is an understatement.” 

Darcy makes her way over to Bruce and crosses her arms in front of her. It is not a defensive stance, but more like the posture of a colleague, a collaborator. At least, she hopes that’s how it comes across. “I don’t really know all the details about what happened, but I also don’t really know how good an idea it is to work for someone you don’t fully trust.” She then raises her shoulder, a lopsided shrug. “Then again, _keep your frenemies closer…_ ’”  Looking straight at Bruce, Darcy speaks in her most authoritative voice. “I think we need to talk to this Fury dude. Look him in his eyes-”

“Eye,” Natasha says without hesitation. 

“Uh, eye?”

The assassin grins. “You’ll see.”

“What? Is he like a pirate or something?”

Natasha continues only to smile and says nothing.

“Okay… um, look in his _eye_ , and make him answer all of our questions. Honestly. No lies.”

Bruce smirks. “It’s hard to make Fury answer any question truthfully, believe me, I know.”

“ _Ooh_ -kay.” She winces as she awkwardly smirks at him. “Is it kosher to request some Hulk Smash action if he doesn’t give me a raise? Because you know I’m totally going to ask him.”  

Laughing, this time with far more ease than before, Bruce looks at Natasha. “Can you tell him we’ll be in first thing in the morning?”

She nods, and smiles at both of them. “Consider it done.”

When Bruce turns away to head back to his work station, binders in hand, Natasha beckons Darcy over.

“There’s more? Ooh! Is this more super-secret, fancy spy stuff? Like a video camera shoved into the tip of a pen?”

“You watch way too many movies. Here.” Natasha unceremoniously shoves a tiny flash drive with a silver chain into Darcy’s palm. She lets it dangle on the chain.

“What’s this?”

“The video of the S.H.I.E.L.D. files on the topic you’ve been interested in.” Romanoff’s eyes travel, briefly, over to Bruce, who is still engrossed in the binders. Darcy swallows. These are the classified videos of the Hulk that Natasha had offered to let her see, things that weren’t made available to the public. Darcy now holds them, swinging from a chain on the tips of her fingers.

She doesn’t want Bruce to know that she’s got this thing, that she will watch this thing because she needs to know more about the Hulk before… well, before she meets the big guy. So, she pockets the drive and gives Natasha a nod, while pointing at the tip of her nose. 

Natasha rolls her eyes, like she always does with Darcy, but there is a hint of amusement that crosses her face. And, if Darcy is not mistaken, something akin to friendly warmth, compassion. With a single nod, the assassin pivots and exits out of the lab, saying not another word.

 

###

 

Later in the afternoon, after both of them reviewed, somewhat shallowly, the binders Natasha left for them, Bruce leaves the lab. He doesn’t tell Darcy where he’s going. He does not have to; observing his demeanor, she is almost certain he will be Hulking out in the training room in the bowels of the tower.

Her hands rub the flash drive, snug in her pocket, as he gives her a soft, lingering kiss. 

“I’ll be back later tonight.”

She smiles at him. “No worries.” She watches him leave.

Darcy departs about forty minutes later.  “J.A.R.V.I.S.?” she says as she waits for the elevator.

“Yes, Miss Lewis?” his smooth voice clear and charmingly British. 

“Where is Bruce right now?”

“He has already transformed, and is presently engaged in a simulation in the training room with Sir, Captain Rogers and Agent Barton.” 

Darcy’s taken aback. This is the first time she’s heard that other Avengers would be joining the Hulk during practice. “Oh! I see.”

“Shall I inform Agent Romanoff that you will be joining her in the observation room?”

“Um,” she says uncertainly, fingering the small plastic and metal instrument in her pocket. “Not today. I’ve got some stuff I have to take care of.”

“Certainly, Miss Lewis.”

True to her word, Darcy doesn’t go to the observation deck.  Instead, she is back at her apartment.  She wants to watch these videos by herself, without distraction or commentary. However, when the door slides open, she sees that this will be more difficult than she had thought. 

“Hey!” Jane says brightly. “Wasn’t expecting you back so soon! Dinner’s almost ready.” She spreads her hands out and Darcy stops short. The dining table is loaded with three aluminum trays filled to the brim with lasagna, melted mozzarella spilling out and edged with red sauce. There are three bottles of wine, garlic bread and one Norse god, standing behind the kitchen bar, big wooden bowl in front of him.  He laughs as he tosses, _literally,_ lettuces, spinach, radishes, herbs, and what looks like blue cheese and croutons, in the air in front of him. It is as if a farm exploded in front of him.

“Thor, no! You’re making a huge mess.” Jane tries to salvage the salad disaster, but Thor Odinson thinks this is the greatest Midgardian thing ever. 

“I have never been impressed with what you humans call ‘vegetables’,” he says as Jane shoots him daggers and takes away the large wooden fork and spoon, “but this so-called ‘tossed salad’ entertains me! It is similar to the performances of my father’s jesters during our feasts, but this time _I_ get to be the jester!” 

“Har har,” Jane says, while Darcy tries vainly to suppress giggles bubbling up from her throat. “This isn’t a show. This salad is meant to be consumed by us.” She wilts as she examines the state of the countertop, which resembles NYU’s cafeteria salad bar after lunch hours. “It’s safe to say that we’ll be eating about half of this.”

“Thor,” Darcy says, nudging him in the arm, “you know that Jane _really_ loves it when you celebrate her cooking by throwing it across the room!” She cocks her back and releases it with such violent force, she’s certain she dislocated her shoulder.  

“No!” Jane stabs her serving spoon at her blond Adonis and BFF, who was now snickering into her sleeve.”There will be _no_ throwing of the food. Here or anywhere!”

“But brave Darcy said-”

“Brave Darcy does _not_ know what she’s talking about!”  Jane goes back to setting the table, and Darcy looks up, _way_ up at Thor, who’s, like, seven feet taller than her, even when he's just sitting down.  The Asgardian winks at her and leans over to whisper.  

“Do not tell Jane that it pleases me to annoy her so.”

Darcy throws her head back, ripples of silent laughter shaking her entire body. She presses her hand to her mouth. “Damn Thor, I think you’re getting the hang of traditional Earth-bound dating rituals.”

They commence a brief shoving match, in which Thor is very careful not to knock Darcy on the floor, both watching as Jane finishes prepping.

“There! Done. Now, we can eat.”

Thor claps his hands cheerfully, but Darcy begs off.  She is desperate to start watching the Hulk videos on the hard drive. “I’ve got some stuff to do, some research to finish up-”

“That can wait.” Jane grabs Darcy’s arm and practically yanks her down into the closest chair. “We haven’t had a good meal together in quite a while, and don’t even think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been sleeping here lately." 

Darcy’s mouth bobs like a fish gasping for air. “What? I… wh-what’re you talking about?”

“Shush! Just sit and eat with us tonight, Darcy. Please?” Jane bats her eyelashes, and, well, that pretty much settles it for her. Darcy unwraps her napkin and places it on her lap.

“I went to the store and went bonkers with all their prepared meals, obviously. We’ve got plenty of food here…” Jane’s voice trails off as both she and Darcy stare, horrified as Thor grabs a full tray of lasagna and puts it on his plate. Apparently, Darcy thinks, when three trays of food are presented to three people, Thor takes that to mean one tray per person. She also has no doubt that the god can polish the entire thing off, scary though that may be.

“Um, okay.” Jane shakes her head, and grabs the closet pan to her and begins cutting a corner piece for herself.  “Help yourself, Darcy.” Jane turns the pan to the other end of the table and Darcy digs in, finally realizing just how hungry she is thanks to her stomach making a desperate, happy yelp for imminent food.

“By the way, where’s Bruce? We should’ve invited him to eat with us. Like a double date.” Jane is way too excited about things; either it’s from things going really well in her lab, or things are going splendidly with Thor. Or both.

“Um, I think he’s Hulked out with the rest of the team.” Across from her, Thor’s fork clatters onto his plate.

“Banner did not inform me he would be training this evening.”

“I don’t think he knew he’d be training tonight,” Darcy says, in between taking a sip of her water. “He’s had kind of a rough weekend.”

“And you’ve been providing him a warm, comforting shoulder, yeah?” 

Darcy chokes on her bite of lasagna and stares at Jane scandalized; her soon-to-be-former BFF is sucking a long string of cheese from her fork and waggling her eyebrows back at her.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You do admit you and Banner are courting though.” How Thor manages to talk with the right side of his face stuffed full of mozzarella and meat sauce is beyond Darcy.

“Well… courting is a relatively _strong_ term for what we are.” Darcy coughs. “I… we’re… taking it slow.” She's not sure why she doesn't want to say more to Jane. Perhaps it's because it's Bruce, and whenever she opens her mouth about her relationships that seems to be the death knell, and she doesn't want to jinx this awesome, spectacular,  _Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious_ thing she has with the man. So, best to keep it as discreet as much as she can.

“So _not friends with benefits_?” Jane bats her eyebrows. Darcy balls up her napkin and beans it on her forehead.

“Stop! No, we’re definitely not that.”

“Has he informed you of our weekly sessions yet? Does he know you know about them?” Darcy ignores the fact that Thor has already polished off three-fourths of his lasagna while she and Jane have barely touched their breadsticks. 

“Nope. Not sure when I’m going to tell him either.” Darcy picks up another napkin, wipes her mouth and sits back in her chair. “Natasha gave me the files on Bruce… the Hulk, I mean.”

Thor casts a puzzled glance at Jane. Jane, however, stared back at Darcy with widened eyes.  

“I believe I am missing something?” Thor asks to either of them. “Please fill me in. Any way I can be of assistance.”

Jane shoots Darcy a questioning look, and Darcy shrugs, giving her permission to explain. So, she does. "You know how Darcy and I’ve been watching you guys fight each other every week?” 

“Of course.” Thor says, nodding.

“Well, Natasha said she had some video of the Hulk in action. All classified via S.H.I.E.L.D. Never been released.” Jane twirls her fork on her white plate, picking up bits of stray noodle and cheese filling.

“And she gave them to me today.” Darcy holds up the small flash drive, letting the chain attached to it hang from her fingers, spooling around them like a silvery spiderweb. Jane whistles and takes a drink of water. 

“So, that’s what you’re going to be doing tonight instead of hanging out with us?” 

“Yup.” Darcy stares long and hard at the small piece of plastic and metal. She wonders whether things will get better once she sees what’s on it, if she’ll just stop being so damn scared of him.

“If I may,” Thor begins, his elbow propped on the table and his body angled toward Darcy. “Banner, when he is the Hulk, is not the same brute that we first met on the helicarrier.” 

“You don’t think?” Darcy asks, the hopeful lilt in her voice more than a little obvious.

Thor nods. “He remembers moments, recognizes familiar faces. He and I have encountered each other more outside the field than the others, and he excels in peppering our games with insults, bravado.”

“Yeah, I think we need to have a long talk about what’s a _game_ to you,” Jane says sarcastically. Whether he catches her sardonic tone, Thor does not let on.  

“He has a close bond already with Stark," he adds.

Darcy's brow creases. "Do you think that's because he and Tony are, like, science super best friends or something?"

Thor shrugs.  "I do not know, but it is certainly possible. They were little more than strangers though, when the Hulk saved Stark in battle-”

“Wait, what? He _saved_ Iron Man?” Darcy’s leaning across the table, her hand in front of Thor’s plate. This is the first she’s ever heard of this. 

“During the Battle of New York, as Stark, in his suit of iron, fell out of the great portal upon the destruction of the Chitauri vessel. He fell through the wormhole Loki had created, and- ” 

“Dude, dude… oh my God, slow down!” Darcy rubs her temples. Too much information all at once. She knew about most of this stuff, Tony Stark, the nuclear bomb, the portal that both she and Jane saw on the news. For some reason, though, she hadn’t heard about the part where the Hulk saved Tony. How that got left out, she has no idea.  Maybe she has been looking at all of this all wrong. Tony was right; the Hulk really wasn’t a savage brute, but more like a hyperactive child. A _really super strong and angry_ hyperactive child-

 _“…._ _always being told to sit in the corner or stay in his room…”_

She can't help but understand. After all, wouldn’t she be angry all the time if she was told to do something she didn’t want to do. Hell yeah, she would!

_“...he’s all hepped up on anger, which, let’s face it, is the Hulk equivalent of candy, and pent-up energy.”_

She feels herself starting to come around. The knowledge that Bruce, as the Hulk, could still recognize people, could possibly recognize her… maybe he wouldn’t outright try to squish her like a puny ant under his big green feet after all.

“Have I said something that made you upset?” Thor asks her. Jane is already clearing their plates, and Thor’s now empty tray, and she stops, waiting for Darcy to answer.

“I think I really, _really_ need to watch these videos now. If that’s okay?” 

“Do you want us with you? Me? Do you need anything?” Jane’s near-maternal tone is very different from the frantic scientist Darcy met so long ago. Maybe her relationship with Thor is doing wonders for loosening her up, getting Jane away from her science-driven myopia.   

Darcy shakes her head. “Nah. You guys enjoy dessert,” she says, with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows. Jane rolls her eyes.

“It’s tiramisu, in case you were wondering.” 

“Is that what all the crazy kids are calling this nowadays?” Darcy makes a circle with her hand and jabs a finger in the center. Jane being all mature and stuff is making her go a little nuts, so she has to do something to bring down the bar here. Sexual hand gestures should do the trick. 

“Seriously, how _old_ are you?” Jane shakes her head, while Thor hides his smirk behind his hand, shrugging with mock nonchalance.

 

###

  

She is in her bedroom now, has been for the past twenty minutes. She on her bed, on her stomach, the plush, brilliant purple down comforter piled all around her.  

The first few videos she watches were taken during the Hulk’s attack on Culver University. She watches, with a strange mix of horror for what’s happening to the campus and fist-pumping satisfaction every time the Hulk takes out a tank or a military guy. She screams, her hand clamped over her mouth, when a man, moving faster than any of the other soldiers, leaps up on him, moving exactly like Captain America does during battle, trying to deliver the defeating blow to the Hulk, only to have his body thrown limply against a tree.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. can you identify this man?” she asks, touching the screen, and pulling it up into the air in front of her face. 

“Blonsky, Emil. Captain in the British Royal Marines. Born in Russia, he was raised in England-”

“That’s okay, J.A.R.V.I.S. Thanks. I, uh, just wanted to know who he was.”

“You are welcome, Miss Lewis.”

So, that is Blonsky, pre-transformation. A handsome fellow, in a rough, combat-zone training sort of way. Looks tough. Almost mean, if she is honest. She thinks of Bruce’s gentle face, his soft-spoken ways and friendly eyes, and a pang tickles her heart.  She swipes the floating image of Blonsky down from the air, and crumples it up in her hand, signaling that she wants to discard it.

She’s about to click on the next video as the Culver University attack continues to play, when something makes her stop.  

“ _BRUCE_!”

A woman, tall and slender, with long brown hair and a beautiful face, steps toward the Hulk. She touches him, and there is tenderness in her expression. Fear, too, but her gestures are filled with so much love and concern for the Hulk that Darcy feels a lump gathering in her throat. “Stupid allergies,” she mutters as she bats away at her eyes.  She knows that the woman is Betty Ross, without even having to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. She’s only read accounts from Bruce’s file, picked up on a few things here and there, but there is nothing like seeing her in person to really understand. 

The Hulk, calmer now, stares back at Betty. Darcy can see it, even from the shaky, grainy quality of the video camera. He recognizes her. She centers him, calms him. It is so unambiguous, so evident from the scene.

There are more explosions, a fire… Darcy gasps as the Hulk roars, carrying an unconscious Betty in his arms. She rewinds it, rewatches it two, three… four more times. He’s saving her. _Saving_ her _..._

Suddenly, they’re both gone. The video stops.

She takes a moment, falls back on her bed. More than anything, the videos help her realize that what Thor said is true; the Hulk recognizes people that are familiar, special to Bruce. The reaction the Hulk had when he saw Betty was clear, that shit cannot be made up. He _knew_ her. 

In a way, just as Bruce had, the Hulk seemed like he had feelings for her too, perhaps even loved her.

There’s a knock on her door. “Yeah.” Darcy says, eyes not leaving the screen as she searches the drive for more videos.

The door slides open and there is Jane, holding a small, white bowl.  “Thought you could use this.” She takes a seat next to Darcy on the bed.

Darcy looks up. “What’ve you got… oh!” Tiramisu, sprinkled with cocoa powder, the mocha-colored peaks provide pretty much the only enticement away from Bruce’s past. “Yeah, thanks.”

“So, what’s new on the videos?”

Darcy angles the laptop to give Jane the best possible view of the screen. It is the frozen image of the Hulk emerging from the fire, carrying the limp Betty in his arms, roaring at the world for daring to destroy him.

She backs it up a little bit more, so Jane sees everything in context. Darcy eats as Jane watches the video play, gasping at certain, revealing moments. 

“I… I can’t believe… the Hulk _knew_ her?”

Darcy nods silently.  

“He saved her. Protected her.”

She swallows the tiramisu, the cool custard mixing with the bitter sweetness of the espresso and dark chocolate. Despite it tasting awesome, clearly from the same store that made the lasgana and the rest of dinner tonight, it sits in Darcy’s throat, cement-like. She swallows with great effort. 

“Thanks, by the way,” she mutters.

“Wow,” Jane whispers, ignoring Darcy’s gratitude, not that Darcy blames her. The footage is unreal. It is really doing a number on her brain. 

“He loved her. Hell, he loved her so much that the Hulk loved her too,” she finally says.

“Does that bother you?” Jane crawls back on the bed to sit next to Darcy, their backs resting against her headboard.

“No, not like jealous or anything. More like… sad.”

“Sad. Really?”

Darcy nods. “I mean, it’s kind of all Beauty and the Beast, right? Bruce gets angry, turns into this giant rage hulking thing, and is on the lam from the Army who sees him as nothing but a freakish weapon of mass destruction. This guy, General Ross, he chases him every step of the way, making him more of an outsider than ever. And he’s the dad of woman Bruce is, _was,_ in love with.” She corrects herself, and hopes that that is true, that whatever lingering feelings Bruce had for Betty are far in the past now.  

Jane is silent for a moment, her head slowly moving back and forth as Darcy finishes her dessert. Bowl and spoon clank down on Darcy’s nightstand, and both women sit, arms crossed over their knees. 

“What are you going to do with this?”

It’s the most obvious question ever, Darcy thinks, and yet it isn’t something she actually considered. Because, yeah, what _should_ she do with it? Ask Bruce about it? Has anyone ever done that? Maybe she should consult Tony… 

Wait. Horrible idea. Tony Stark giving her advice about anything regarding her love life was just asking for massive fuckery.  But what else was there?

“I don’t know.” Darcy’s brow deepens as she attempts to make sense of what she sees before her… 

Just like that, she realizes it’s now or never.

Her chin set determinedly, Darcy asks J.A.R.V.I.S. “Is Bruce still in the training room with the others?” 

“Yes, Miss Lewis. It appears they have started a new simulation as well.” 

“Darcy… what are you thinking?” Jane’s voice fills with suspicion, with doubt. "Where are you going?"

Nodding resolutely to herself, ignoring the giant, rapid thumps of her heart against her ribcage, Darcy exits her bedroom. She passes Thor, who is on the couch.

“Jane? Darcy?” he asks. Darcy doesn’t reply. She ignores Jan flapping her hands at her Norse boyfriend, urging him to get up.  

“I think she’s going to meet the Hulk.”  She can hear Jane whispering to Thor.

“Then we should accompany her.”

“No, we should _stop_ her!” 

Except nothing Jane says can or will stop Darcy at this point. She steps out, wordlessly, through her apartment’s sliding door and storms toward the elevator.

“Darcy, think about this-”

“That’s the problem, Jane. I’ve thought about this too much. I just need to do it. Like a band-aid.”

Jane steps around to the front of Darcy and grabs her by the shoulders. “This is _not_ like a band-aid! You’re talking about meeting the Hulk, face to face. You don’t know if he’s going to act the same way he did in that video with Betty when he meets you. Darcy!” Jane’s voice is desperate, and if Darcy wasn’t in such a “To hell with it!” mood, Jane's words might have had some impact.

However, she’s ready and willing to take a chance. Her fears about the Hulk aren’t going to be solved by sitting and watching for weeks and weeks in a room. 

The elevator slides open, and Darcy steps in, wresting herself away from Jane’s grip. She puts her hand on the elevator doorframe, holding the carriage for a moment.

“When a desert storm erupted one night, you told us to drive toward that batshit-crazy looking vortex, right? Even though I swore, _swore_ at you that that was the mother of all bad ideas!” 

“Darcy-”

“ _Jane_ , when we saw those pictures of a man flying in the vortex and you realized it was tall, blond, and oh-my-GOD-with-the-muscles over here,” she says, nodding at Thor, “you burst into that hospital and chased him down. Even when all the evidence thus far pointed to the fact we were possibly dealing with a psycholoonie! Even though me and Selvig were all, ‘No don’t, he’s batshit crazy!’”

“That’s not-”

“ _And_ ,” Darcy interrupts, knowing she was on a roll and Jane had zero responses to her facts, because they were all so very, _very_ true.  “After we saw how he trashed the hospital, how the government trashed your lab, and you knew nothing about him other than he was important to your Einstein-Rosen Bridge hypothesis and he was cut like a motherfucker, you pursued him all the way to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base. You did _all_  that, not giving two fucks about what happened to you. You were going off of pure instinct, your gut. That’s what I’m doing now. Going with my gut. And my gut tells me it’s time to meet the Hulk."

“That’s different. I was… pursuing a scientific hypothesis,” Jane says hesitantly. Thor’s head had been ping-ponging back and forth between them. Finally, he puts a hand on Jane’s shoulder. 

“Darcy believes it is time, Jane. We must support her.” He hefts Mjolnir next to him, and Darcy wonders if he had it the entire time and how the hell did she not notice that? “I know the Hulk well now, perhaps even better than I know Banner himself. Should anything go wrong, I will protect Darcy with my very life.” 

“Come on then!” Darcy urges them both into the elevator. “I’ve got to get down there fast, before they’re gone.”

The elevator ride seems to be the slowest in the history of Darcy’s short existence at Stark Tower.  She rubs her sweaty palms on the sides of her jeans and fidgets with her shirt. After the third time she wipes her hands against each other does Jane take them and hold them against their sides. She leans into her friend, putting her head on her shoulder, and gives Thor a grateful smile. She mouths a simple, “Thanks,” at the lifelike Adonis, and he nods back, smiling at her, leaving her with the realization that as much as she’s friends with Jane, Thor has somehow also become incredibly important to her as well.

They get off at the basement level. All around them, they can hear muffled _booms_ and roars. Darcy hesitates in front of the giant doors she knows leads into the training room, her hands flexing.

“You don’t have to do this now.”

Shaking her head, Darcy blurts out to the air. “J.A.R.V.I.S. can you stop the current simulation and tell them… tell them we’re coming in with Thor.”

“Certainly,” responds the cool British-voiced A.I. There is a pause. “Captain Rogers says that this is not advised, as Doctor Banner is still in his Hulk phase-”

“Just open the doors, please.”

With no other argument, the doors slide open.  

The Hulk stands on the other side of the room, roaring into the air, as if personally vexed that whatever he had been smashing is now gone, and all that remains is empty space. He jumps in the air repeatedly, up and down and up and down, shaking the room violently with each hit. 

Captain America, all suited up, runs up to them. “Miss… Darcy, I’m not entirely sure what you’re doing down here, but this isn’t a good time.”

“Cap, telling you to stop being an old fuddydud would be like telling a bear to stop shitting in the woods.” Tony swoops down on her left, decked out completely in full armored glory.  “Chill. Darcy knows what she’s doing, don’t you Dollywood?” 

She blinks, opening her mouth, about to reply with something scathing for Tony, except nothing comes out. Her brain’s using all of its energy trying to get through this thing that she is now dead set on doing. As stupid, as moronic as it may be. 

“No guts, no glory,” she mutters, as she passes Cap, who is talking to Thor, and begins, slowly, approaching the Hulk.  

Clint is with Natasha, both of whom glance sideways at Darcy. They meet her gaze, and she sees Clint nod, very subtly, and grip his bow tightly around the center. Natasha holds up her wrist, clicking something in place so it lights up bright blue. All she can think is, "Wait, Nat's down here too? What the hell?"

Darcy is not wholly sure what the best way to go about doing this is, so she decides to wing it. With each shaky step, with each nervous breath, she reminds herself that she’s got backup, essentially, in the rest of the Avengers. 

“They wouldn’t let anything happen to me, right?” she asks herself, taking her eyes off the Hulk for one moment to quickly glance over her shoulder. “Right?”  A growl, low and vicious, snaps her attention back. Darcy’s heart stops as she feels a gush of air, warm and moist, hit her face. Her entire field of vision fills with green, as the Hulk pushes his face toward hers.

It’s the first time she’s been able to study, truly look at the Hulk’s face. It is Bruce. Angrier, sure. Bigger, most definitely. But it is all Bruce.  The lines in his face, the slope of his forehead, the eyes even the shape of his mouth, the same lips that she’s kissed so many times. 

It is him. Just bigger. And greener. Maybe a little meaner. Well, most definitely a lot meaner. 

“Uh… h-hi,” she stammers.  The Hulk is hunched over, fists flexing, head level with hers, and he eyes her with something akin to territorial caution.  She can almost hear him thinking _Who is this strange girl?_ Maybe not with all those syllables or words, or as an actual completed sentence, but… close enough.

“I’m… Darcy.” She tries this tack first.  Maybe a nice introduction will soften the atmosphere between them.  Her hand twitches, and she realizes how stupid she was to not have brought her Taser with her. 

The Hulk grunts, and he circles her. Slowly at first, his eyes pinned on her, his nose flaring with her scent. Darcy does not take her eyes off of him. He bends down even lower, and draws in a deep breath just over the top of her head.  His expression shifts visibly.  He rears back, his brow creases, but it is as if he’s thinking, considering-

“DARCY!” 

Okay, she thinks, this is… good. It sounds gravelly, but she reckons that’s just how the Hulk always sounds.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m Darcy. Darcy Lewis.”

“YOU KNOW BANNER!” 

Score. It is working. It’s not like the epic scene she witnessed between the Hulk and Betty on that S.H.I.E.L.D. video, but Darcy will take what she can get. “I do know Bruce Banner, yeah.”  She takes one step closer to him, keeping her hands out at her sides. “I know him very well.”

The Hulk’s stance relaxes some, she can see. He’s not hunching over anymore, but his breathing is steady and slower than before. “BANNER SPECIAL TO YOU! YOU ARE HIS!”

She can’t really tell if he’s asking whether they are special to each other or is simply stating it as a fact, but she goes with it. “I’d like to think that, yeah. Could, uh, do without the whole ‘I’m his property’ thing... _Which is okay_!” She adds this when the Hulk sneers at her. Probably best to leave the whole educating-the-Hulk-on-second-wave-feminism thing alone. For now.  

“We’re… dating,” she admits, publicly for the first time and well, it’s the truth. No use hiding it from everyone else at this point. “I wanted to meet you.”

“DARCY NOT SCARED OF HULK!”

“I was a little bit, honestly.” She manages a smile. “But, you’re okay. I’ve been watching you smash.”

“DARCY LIKES HULK SMASH!” 

“Yes! Totally, yes.” Common ground. Win. “I _love_ watching you smash. Could watch it all day long.” 

The Hulk throws his head back and roars, louder than he ever has, and beats his chest so hard that he makes the room shake.  Darcy trips backwards, hands on her head, shielding her ears. The Hulk sees her and stops.

“DARCY HURT! DARCY SCARED NOW!”

“N-no…” She shakes her head rapidly. “Just surprised.”

“HULK NOT WANT TO HARM DARCY! HULK WANTS SHOW DARCY THING!”

Darcy gapes, turns quickly around to face Tony and the rest of the team. Stark has his faceplate up and shrugs. Well, that’s not super-helpful right now. She can only hope the Hulk isn’t propositioning her with some lewd suggestion, which… how would that even work anyway?  As her brain unwittingly contemplates the physical logistics of Hulk-human intimacy, she watches the Hulk walk into the room on the right side of the training area. The doors remain open and she scurries over, following in his massively giant footsteps.

What she sees, laid out before her, shocks her into silence. 

She steps inside, from the solid white floor of the training room, to patches of mossy green and rock of this new room. A wall of moist humidity hits her square in the face. Getting her bearings straight, Darcy sees that the rock and moss are not only on the floor, but everywhere in the massive space, which is about half as big as the training room. It covers the walls, hangs from the ceilings, and it turns the entire place into a giant cave. Water trickles from crevasses in between the rocks and pools in a small, clear stream running crookedly throughout. In front of her stands the Hulk, silhouetted against a large screen projecting a panoramic image of a rainforest. Stunningly life-like, she thinks. 

The real kicker of the entire room is the sight of a waterfall spilling in front of the screen, pouring into a stream-like channel that funnels all of it into a little pond just off to the right.  Looking at the entire landscape, as if out of a fairytale, Darcy is too stunned to breathe, let alone say anything.

She can hear the low growl of the Hulk’s breath, like a fistful of rocks got stuck in his throat. He’s looking out from beneath the curtain of water, breathing slowly. Peacefully.

Carefully, she steps on rocks, navigating the floor to avoid the slicker wet spots. When she finally reaches the Hulk, she clears her throat to alert him to her presence. He grunts, but to her, it does not sound angry.  It is more like he’s acknowledging he knows she is here.

“HULK’S ROOM! COMES HERE WHEN NO LONGER WANTS TO SMASH!”

“This is… beautiful, actually.” Darcy finds a dryish rock and, awkwardly, sits on it, steadying herself on the flattest side.

“DARCY LIKES!”

“Darcy thinks this is really bad ass.”

Hulk snorts, and she notices a smirk growing across his face. Wait, not a smirk, but a smile. Or at least, the Hulk’s version of a smile. She’s starting to feel a little less nervous, a little less like he’s going to use her as a smashing thing, so she starts with the really bad jokes. 

“Heh… betcha bring all the girls down here.”  Really, she thinks? A goddamn pickup line? She _is_ certifiable.  

Hulk, though, doesn’t laugh. He lets out a low moan. 

“Not one for words, huh? That’s cool… I can talk for both of us.”

_Oh my GOD, idiot! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!_

Apparently, she _is_ still really nervous, or else she’d just shut right the fuck up.  

“CAVE! SIT IN CAVE!”

“Sorry… Darcy, um, sit. Sit, and no talk.”

Hulk grunts again.  She sees his elbow, almost level with her head, as tall as he is sitting.  Looking down at the Hulk’s arm, she sees it’s almost the size of a log. Steeling herself, Darcy moves her hand, haltingly, at first, because she’s not even sure this is the right move. It is so bizarre an impulse, so insane that she would even contemplate this, as it is straight out of high school. No. It’s straight out of junior high. It feels pretty much like a first date. 

Darcy’s shaking hand reaches up and rests on the Hulk’s forearm. It startles him; he snorts, looks down at her tiny hand. His upper lip curls, as does his right brow, but he seems less disgusted, more confused. All of her nerves are on fire, jangling like little chimes in the wind. She is shaking all over, and yet she doesn’t take her hand off his green arm.  Darcy looks at him, does not take her eyes off of him, and she smiles. The Hulk doesn’t take his eyes off of her either, and she gives him a little squeeze, though she strongly doubts he can feel it through his thick skin. 

She doesn’t realize that his arm is growing smaller until his skin begins to lighten. The features on his face, so strangely exaggerated as the Hulk, slowly shrink, and gradually the familiar soft brown eyes return. His hair, Darcy sees, is exactly the same, perhaps a little more messy and tousled from hours of smashing and crashing around, but the wisps of grey around his temples are even more pronounced than before.  The transformation back to Bruce Banner is far less traumatic than watching his body break to become the Hulk. She’s not sure where the physical enormity of the Hulk goes, but somehow he retreats and lets Bruce reemerge into the world.

Once again, he is Bruce Banner, and he slumps over, her hand still touching his arm. Darcy pulls him to her, her arm winding around his back. She lays him down across her lap, where he falls asleep without another word.


	10. Of Progression and Regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Darcy take their relationship to the next level. And then the past comes back to bite him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-explicit sexual situations in this one, so I'm upping the rating to mature. I'm really uncomfortable with writing explicit sex scenes, so this is about as mature as it's going to get. 
> 
> Apologies for not getting this out sooner. I'm working well on the next chapter, which is going to be a fun one, for me at least. It's a nice, long chapter though. 
> 
> ETA: I'm taking an break from this story, until at least beginning of March, because I'm devoting every single waking moment pretty much to studying for the California Bar Exam (repeat taker... um, yay?) Also, I'm raising a 10-month-old at home, so my spare time is nil for the next couple of months.
> 
> THIS STORY HAS MOST DEFINITELY NOT BEEN ABANDONED! I reassure you! So please keep reccomending and reading and reviewing! I appreciate it!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting.

They are in Fury’s office, waiting for the director to summon them in.  Bruce sits across from Darcy, and for the past minute, both have been staring at the other.  She cocks her eyebrow silently, and, in response, he laughs.

“Go on,” Darcy goads him.  “Say it.”

“I’m not going to.” He shakes his head definitively.

“‘ _Darcy_ ,’” she says, dropping her voice comically low, in what he hopes is a wholly inaccurate imitation of him, “‘you were very stupid! So totally stupid and now I’m angry! And you totally shouldn’t have made me angry because bad things happen when I get angry, which I totally am!’”

“No. No way. Not referring to anything you did yesterday in regards to the Hulk as ‘stupid’.”

Darcy grunts and sprawls backwards in her chair. She wiggles her finger at him. “But you really, _really_ want to, like, super bad want to.”

He laughs. “I’ve already gone on record that I think what you did was…” His head bobs as he tries to think of the right words to use. He has staunchly avoided calling her actions “stupid”, although Darcy presently thinks this is a big joke. Or, at least, she’s treating it as a big joke, much to his chagrin. “It didn’t show the best judgment.” He looks at her with deadly serious eyes, which melts slightly under her chastised smile.

When Bruce found out that she interrupted the simulation last night so she could meet the Hulk, face to face, the rest of the team were concerned that his reaction would trigger another Hulk-out. They stepped back, gave Bruce some room to breathe and he calmed down. He looked at Darcy and asked to speak with her alone about it.

“Why?” he asked her, his expression grave, full of concern. “Why would you put yourself in that position?”

Then, Darcy explained to him about watching the Hulk for so many weeks with Natasha and Jane, watching video footage of the Hulk in action, slowly getting over her fears of the green beast. More or less.

"I did it for me, really. And you too, you dork." 

Her earnestness left him speechless for a few moments. He brushed aside her hair and wound his arms around her, giving her a hug that grew in its intensity. “That means a lot to me.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I was, _am_. I’m always angry. It’s just that… I’m also scared for you.”

It was the truth, mostly. There was some anger mixed in, but much of it was directed primarily at Tony and the rest of the team for not watching out for Darcy in the first place. Hell, Thor had been _thisclose_ to practically allowing Darcy into full-on battle.  

It was something he had to get over. That attitude was patronizing, to say the least. Darcy Lewis was the type of person who could smell patronizing about a mile away.

A day later, and they are at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York headquarters. Since their arrival, Darcy has been challenging him the whole time to say what she did was stupid. He protests vehemently, all the way down to Fury’s office.

“I will not, I _refuse_ , to say that.” He shakes his head.   

Darcy smiles slyly at him. “It’s _so_ on the tip of your tongue.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bruce takes her hands and brings them very briefly to his lips. “No, it’s not going to happen.  I won’t insult you like that. Now, Tony, on the other hand, is very stupid.” 

“I resent that.” To Bruce’s right, Tony Stark pipes up from whatever business he was conducting on his phone. 

“Got your attention, at the very least,” Bruce says, his elbows resting on his knees. “By the way, why are you here again?”

“I worry about you, especially around the likes of our not-so-favorite superspy.”  Tony smirks at him, just as Fury’s assistant, someone Bruce knows is not Maria Hill, comes walking in carrying a stack of files that nearly tips over out of her arms. Darcy goes over to help, and Bruce watches as the two women chat. 

“Are you concerned I might Hulk out and break the building in two?”

“Please. I would pay good money to see that. I figured more the merrier when you’re playing on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s turf. Also,” Tony says, showing Bruce his phone, “it never hurts to know exactly what Fury’s playing with while you’re talking to him.”

“You’re hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s system again?"

“I never stopped hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s system. Just like Michael Corleone, they try to kick J.A.R.V.I.S. out, but J.A.R.V.I.S. keeps getting back in.”  

Tony has downloaded every file, document, image pertaining and/or relating to The Cube, General Ross, even Betty Ross, much to Bruce’s chagrin.  He looks up, making sure Darcy is out of earshot.

“Why in the world does S.H.I.E.L.D. have all this information on Betty and her father?” he asks, mostly to himself. “Does it have to do with me?”

Tony shrugs. “Let Double-O-Douchebag answer that once he crawls out of his hidey-hole.”  
  
“Make _what_  the first question?”

Darcy remerges from her quick conversation with the assistant. Bruce shoots Tony a quick look, hoping to keep the billionaire quiet about the S.H.I.E.L.D. Files involving Betty. No need to drum up the past with Darcy at this moment.  

“Just some finer details about working alongside S.H.I.E.L.D. Nothing big.”

She does not look quite convinced by this, but has no chance to reply as ominous footsteps interrupt them. 

“Forty of the top computer engineers in the world work for this agency, and yet they still haven’t found a way to keep you out of my computers. I’m paying them way to too goddamn much." 

The men stand up, Tony shoving his phone into his pocket and Bruce, not smiling, not reacting to any part of Fury’s statements, reaches out to shake his hand. Even though he didn’t trust him, even though he had plenty of questions brewing, that wasn’t going to stop Bruce from acting like a civilized person. He has enough incivility as the Hulk.

“Director.”

“Doctor,” Fury replies, shaking Bruce’s hand.  “Stark. You shut your hacking program down right now, and I won’t force two of my meanest security guards to boot you out of here on your ass.”

“You boot him out of this building, and I guarantee you I will unleash the Hulk with no hesitation.”

Bruce surprises himself, his voice cool, steady, and he watches, not without a little satisfaction, as Fury eyes him, unblinking. 

“Point taken. Step into my office?”

Bruce turns around and gestures for Darcy to join them. They walk into Fury’s office and as they jostle around the chairs. He feels pressure on his left hand. Looking over, Darcy has hold of him. She gives him a squeeze and winks as she takes her seat. There is no other opportunity to say anything else, however. Fury sits on his desk, his arms folded. 

“So, Dr. Banner, this is your meeting. Anything you want to clear up about our new arrangement?”

Bruce shifts in his seat and straightens his back with both feet on the floor, his elbows resting on his chair. “My lab at Stark Tower remains independent from S.H.I.E.L.D. I will consult you and your teams when necessary. We should coordinate any information and surveillance whenever they become available.”

Fury nods. “Fair enough.”

“I have worked out an algorithm to track down Sterns’ gamma signature, similar to how we approached the search for Loki and the Tesseract.”

“Do you need access to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s spectrometers, because you’ve got them-”

Tony flashes his phone at the superspy. “No need. Stark Industries now has _twice_ the spectrometers as S.H.I.E.L.D. and we’ve been running Bruce’s algorithm for the past twenty-four hours. So, it’s safe to say we’re on top of it, and you’re not invited to the party.” 

“It still may be weeks, months even, by the time you track down Sterns though. Isn’t that right, Dr. Banner?”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Perhaps longer still. I’ve adapted the calculations with the information you’ve already given me, but whatever signature emanates from Sterns is likely to be a mere fraction of what the Tesseract generated.”

Fury smirks, and, fleetingly, Bruce kind of wishes he could Hulk smash it right off his face.  “Still, couldn’t hurt to have our spectrometers looking around for this Sterns fellow, no?”

Bruce studies him carefully, eyes narrowed.  He hates giving _any_ information to Fury, but after his talk with Natasha, finding Sterns has suddenly become his number one objective. S.H.I.E.L.D. resources would be helpful in that department. It is dealing with S.H.I.E.L.D. Itself and Fury that Bruce could do without. 

Finally, he assents. “I’ll forward the algorithms to your people.”

“Good.” Fury reaches around for his coffee mug on his desk. “Dr. Banner, I just want to clear the air. I assume that you are not overly fond of sharing information with S.H.I.E.L.D. Or myself, for that matter. Correct?” He watches them from over the rim of his mug. 

“That’s an understatement.” Bruce forces himself to stare directly at Fury, unwavering, unblinking. It is a little difficult, as a decade of exile from military and authority types has left Bruce Banner feeling itchy whenever he is in their presence. After what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D., after Nick Fury’s biggest secret was revealed, that itchy feeling has grown into full-fledged dread dealing with these assholes. 

Although, Darcy did have a point; _Keep your enemies closer…._  

“I’m not. I’m not entirely sure you’re on the up-and-up with us about The Cube-”

Bruce notices Fury’s face fall when he mentions The Cube, and he knows it is because Tony and Darcy are present. It does not matter; he has suspected that Fury, or whoever Fury answers to, salivates at the thought of reforming violent, gamma-radiated mutants. He also suspects that Fury wants to play nice and give him as much as he asks for because S.H.I.E.L.D. wants the Hulk, for whatever reasons. That thought makes him laugh, but the Hulk is an Avenger now, so being a team player isn’t completely unbelievable. 

Working for S.H.I.E.L.D. though, after their history together, almost stretches credulity.

“I think it is very likely that S.H.I.E.L.D. has plans for these prisoners, for Sterns, that are far more self-serving, rather than what’s in the public’s best interest.” Bruce works his jaw back and forth, trying to disperse the agitation that is building up in his body, struggling to keep his mind cool and calm. “I also think it is likely you could be doing all of this in the hope that, one day, the Hulk will join your merry little spy organization.”

He watches Fury flatten his mouth, the only change in his expression, and Bruce knows his bluff has been called. 

“Fine, Dr. Banner. I understand you perfectly. I can’t promise that the higher ups, _my_ higher ups, lest you think I some sort of rogue agent, would say the same, but right now, I’m laying all my cards on the table.”

“Okay.” Bruce scoots forward on his chair, keeping his head low, but his eyes pinned on Fury.  “Since we’re laying everything out, I need to know what your people have on General Ross and Elizabeth Ross.”  

There is a shuffling sound next to him, and Bruce glimpses Darcy squirming in her seat, her face a stiff, impassive mask. She doesn’t look at him, and instead keeps her eyes focused on Fury, or at least on the wall behind Fury’s back. Bruce feels bad, very bad, to bring up his ex in front of her. They haven’t talked much about Betty. The details of their relationship together… well, those were private. Memories for him and him alone, the remnants of a life that could’ve been, that never was. 

He knows that those details would do no good for Darcy to hear. She is his present, his now. Hopefully, she is also his future. Bruce wants to keep it all separate, but the strange thing is that it’s starting to feel a little muddled at the moment.  

Fury glares at Tony, who shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, one of us has to keep Bruce informed, right?” He reveals the screen of his phone to Fury, displaying the hacked files. “Of the people in this room, who’s A) a real, grown-up spy and B) lies about shit every _goddamn_ time?”

“Fine, Stark. You want to make this a thing?”

“I think it was a thing the second you guys got involved with Bruce’s ex and her psycho military father.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Bruce cuts through Fury and Tony’s grandstanding. He wants answers, he wants them now.  

He also remembers Darcy is in the room with them and he reaches for her hand, giving it a very gentle, hopefully reassuring, squeeze. She looks up at him and gives him that familiar, flirty smile.  Not letting go, Bruce turns back to Fury. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Fury looks at Bruce and Darcy’s hands, but says nothing. After a beat of silence, he plunges right in.  “S.H.I.E.L.D. maintained contact with Dr. Ross and the General after your fight with Blonsky, regarding your whereabouts. Communication with General Ross was necessary according to our agreement to allow Blonsky to be contained in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s custody.”

“They wanted to know where I was?” Bruce asks.

“Dr. Ross wanted to know. We told her where you were and that you were safe.” 

Bruce sneaks a glance over at Darcy, who is fiddling with the hem of her skirt with her free hand. He chances giving her hand another squeeze, and in response, she smiles, a little hesitantly than normal.  

“We told General Ross very little, and when it became clear he was not going to give up his hunt for you, we gave him old, outdated information, kept him off your track. Made sure he didn’t find you.”

Bruce nods. “That fits with what Natasha said.”

Here, Fury sucks in a deep breath. “Now, this is the part where I need to ask you to keep calm, to remember the people here, right next to you,” he says, nodding his head toward Tony and Darcy, “and control your anger.”

His brow deepens. “My anger?”

“About nine months ago, Elizabeth Ross and her father went missing.” 

The moment the words leave Fury’s mouth, Bruce feels it, that growing heat, that deep, violent growl always itching at the back of his head, increasing by fractions of seconds-

This time, though, it is Darcy’s grip on his hand, her other hand wrapped tightly around his arm, that somehow brings him back from the edge of green. He’s still angry, but he won’t be ripping anything apart. For now.

“What do you mean _missing_?”

“They went off our radar for about a week. Our agents couldn’t find any trace of them. There was no signs of struggle at Dr. Ross’ home, nor at the General’s. No notice was given to any of the general’s team or Dr. Ross’ colleagues that either of them were going on leave.  Leonard Sampson was as mystified as we were as to Dr. Ross’ whereabouts.”

“Why did no one notify me?”

“We were in the process of notifying you, when Dr. Ross and her father reappeared. By all appearances, neither seemed harmed, physically, at least.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean, ‘physically’?”

“Elizabeth Ross appeared normal, nothing out of the ordinary.  Her father, however, displayed more extreme emotional disturbances, for reasons unknown to us. She explained to our agents that he had suffered some sort of breakdown and she took him somewhere to recuperate. The only problem with her story was that we couldn’t verify where Dr. Ross or her father were located while they were missing. She gave us a couple of different locations, neither of which panned out, and before we could follow up with them, they were gone again.”

Bruce chews the inside of his cheek, gnaws on his lower lip. Keeping his growing agitation in check was a Herculean task, but he was doing it. The pressure of Darcy’s fingers are conspicuously tight on his knuckles, and it brings him back down, down to the present, the now. He cannot, should not lose it over this, over Betty, because he knows nothing. 

“She’s kept in touch, here and there. The last bit of communication came about a month before Loki showed up. She sent a brief email to Dr. Sampson, with whom she contacts on a fairly frequent basis.”  Fury hands over some stapled pages to Bruce, his eyes immediately catching the email header at the top. 

He can’t help that his heart races slightly at the sight of Betty’s old email address, _elizabethross@culver.edu,_ and the thought of Betty and Leonard talking to each other… what their relationship must be now, ever since…

He has flashes of memory, of rough, cheap bedsheets in a ratty motel room, of flecks of his hair, cut and falling between Betty’s fingers, and her underneath him, smelling of jasmine. 

The guilt rises in him again as he sees the messages sent back and forth between Betty and Leonard. Sampson is a decent, kind man; he had helped him because he knew how special he was to Betty.  

Bruce had repaid the man by almost sleeping with his girlfriend.  

The emails are banal in and of themselves, nothing outright suspicious in either message between Betty and Leonard, nothing that Bruce couldn’t determine was code for something else.  That didn’t mean there wasn’t something there underneath the surface though.

“We asked Sampson about the doctor and General Ross, and he gave us these emails. He claims that this was the extent of his contact and knowledge about their whereabouts. We have no reason not to trust him.”

“Yet you don’t?” Bruce asks.

Fury shrugs. “I keep my options open. She might turn up, now that you’re back in the news. To be honest, I was surprised that you didn’t make any effort to find her.” He nods at Bruce and Darcy’s connected hands. “Although now, I guess I see why.”

Darcy withdraws her hand and sits up, her body rigid under Fury’s scrutiny.  

“We haven’t been properly introduced. I assume you’re Darcy Lewis, Dr. Banner’s… assistant?” Fury says, slowly, cautiously. His tone could almost be read as mildly threatening, which puts Bruce on guard.  

Darcy stares, wide-eyed, and nods. “Yeah. That’s me.” She adjusts her thick-rimmed glasses as her eyes shift fleetingly toward Bruce. Her expression is clear: “Oh, fuck!” 

“Miss Lewis, you don’t have any issues with this new arrangement with S.H.I.E.L.D., do you?” 

Bruce subtly winks at her and gives her a small, yet hopefully reassuring nod.

“Well, uh… only one?”

Fury cocks his head at her. “And that is?”

“I do get, like, extra compensation from you guys, right?”

It is worth it just to see Fury’s mouth pucker in annoyance.

“I mean, it only makes sense. You’ll be compensating Bruce for his cooperation with S.H.I.E.L.D. I’ll be assisting Bruce with said work which’ll be done in cooperation with S.H.I.E.L.D. Ergo, I’ll be tangentially doing work with S.H.I.E.L.D. This would likely require some extra compensation for my time and hard work.” Darcy blinks, her expression impassively innocent. 

Fury does not answer for a couple of moments; he crosses his arms and glares at the three visitors. Finally, after a very long, very drawn-out blink, he shrugs. “Fine. Anything else? From any of you three clowns?”

They look at each other, shrugging, and smirking.  “Not at the moment, no.”

“Fine, then,” He waves them off. “My assistant will notify you when papers are ready to be signed. Especially for you, Miss Lewis.”

“Hey! Whaddya mean, _especially_ me?” 

Rolling his eye, Nick Fury leans forward. “Don’t play innocent. Ever since you posted that damn picture of Thor on your Facebook page all the way back in Puente Antigua, I have had agents tracking every tweet, status, blog, and post with your IP address attached to it. We _know_ you _,_ Miss Lewis.” Fury continues, his tone softer. “Every time you post about eating ‘the greatest fried French toast ever’, or ‘hangin’ with your totally awesome Avenger BFFs,’, or taking pics of an alien smashing coffee mugs in a diner in small New Mexico towns, we are all over that.”

“I think,” Darcy says, shakily, “that I speak for everyone in this room when I say, _gulp_!”

Fury raises his eyebrow, appraising Darcy with caution. “Both of you will be privy to S.H.I.E.L.D. information and both of you will be on our payroll. You will not be as free in your communications as you once were. I know you signed several documents back in New Mexico: non-disclosures, confidentiality agreements, etcetera. The documents you will be signing are specific to S.H.I.E.L.D. employment. Your duties in Dr. Banner’s lab will remain unchanged, you are still his assistant. However, we will designate you as liaison between his lab and S.H.I.E.L.D. Is that understood?”

Bruce grins from the side of his mouth. He takes Darcy’s hand, once again, in his, rubbing her fingers, trying to put her at ease. “This is overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison. Got it.” She nods once, and Bruce watches as her loose curls bobs, releasing just a hint of that special strawberry fragrance into the air next to him. The scent goes a long way to ease his tension.

“Congratulations on the big promotion.” He winks at her, and watches pleasantly as her face blushes. As much as he digs Darcy when she lets loose with the funny, her brassiness, he also loves these moments where she’s softer, where she shows a bit of vulnerability, of shyness.

_Loves…_

He swallows that thought back down. The thought comes more frequently as their time together increases, and it scares him. It alarms him that his mind can just throw that word out there, so casually. So… normally.  He’s not quite there, yet. Sometimes, when he looks at her, he thinks that he might…  

But then his walls come roaring up. Memories, of his past, of Betty, and of General Ross fill his mind.  Bruce retreats, compartmentalizing the past and the present and the chaos of love, anger and regret before everything gets out of control. 

They say their goodbyes, and walk out of Fury’s office. They don’t say anything as they navigate the twisted hallways and corridors of the S.H.I.E.L.D. building, both apparently fine with Tony filling the entire space between them with his own brand of hot air. 

Once they reach outside, Tony is on his cell, talking to Happy to pick them up, leaving Bruce and Darcy alone with a million questions hanging in the air between them.

“Um, Darcy, if you want to ask me any questions about-”

“So Fury, right?” She spins around so fast on him, Bruce is afraid she’s going to get whiplash. Her voice is definitely forced, clearly distracting them both from any mention of his ex-girlfriend. “What’s his story?”  
  
“I don’t know.” 

She looks away, her foot tapping on the curb, her chin resting on her thumb. “He looks like he thinks he’s in the Matrix. Like he just told me to swallow the red pill.”

He parses what she’s saying, because, well… The Matrix? He remembers that movie, and he guesses she’s referring to the bald black guy in the leather trench coat. Maybe. “Yeah, yeah… I guess so,” he says vaguely.

Darcy turns around, faces him. She takes both of his hands into hers. “You’re worried about me after three-fourths of the conversation in there revolved around your ex.”  

Finally, Bruce thinks. She knows. She gets it. He figures she did, and he likes that she doesn’t beat around the bush. “It can’t have been fun sitting through that. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and raises a hand to his face, gliding it down his cheek. “Hey, don’t be. You didn’t bring her up, the cranky pirate did.”

Bruce chuckles; the day Darcy loses her sense of humor is the day the devil buys a ice rink. “I would be lying if hearing that her and her father had been missing for days didn’t bother me.”

Darcy peeks over her shoulder; Tony’s still some distance away, talking on his phone.  “Do you want to try to touch base with her?" 

“I might. Just an email, though, at least at first.  If there’s something going on with the general and she’s mixed up in it, I don’t want to get too close with that. He and I don’t get along well. Never did.”  

She grins at him, but the corners of her eyes do not quite crinkle convincingly.  “Well, I trust you.” She grabs a handful of his shirt and tugs him toward her, their lips almost connecting. “Tell me, okay? Don’t cut me out. Don’t shut me off.”

“Darcy, what do you-” he asks.

“Don’t.” Her voice is firm, resolute, and cuts through him like a knife. “No matter what. Look, if you wanna go be with Betty after all this is over, fine. Just tell me though.” She pulls him the rest of the way and their lips meet; Bruce feels hers under his, firm and tough, though Darcy’s lips are naturally big and pouty. There is a determination there that scares him just a little. He wants to say all of that, anything having to do with Betty is all in the past. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear.

However, the words die on his lips. He cannot know for certain, and although it has been ages since he’s seen Betty, he has no way of knowing what will happen in the future.  All that he can promise Darcy is that, right now, he will be here for her.  If that changes in the future, he can respect her enough to be honest with her about it. 

She deserves so much more, but especially that. Pure, unblemished honesty.

Darcy pulls away, but keeps him millimeters away from her face. “I’ve already been embarrassed once before by a guy. I’m not letting that happen again, and definitely not from you. Deal?”

He nods, right as Happy pulls up to the curb. “Deal.”

 

_###_

  

The rest of the week is business as usual. Bruce and Darcy perusing the S.H.I.E.L.D. files. Bruce tries very hard not to blanche whenever either Leonard Sampson or General Ross are brought up. He also tries very hard to stay normal when Betty Ross’ name is mentioned. 

The funny thing is, he begins to find himself looking forward to Hulk training sessions. Getting to Hulk out, with nothing held back, smashing and fighting with complete, total abandon has given him an outlet to release all his pent-up anger. He's starting to think that it is getting easier to control the Other Guy, that he is not constantly itching away in Bruce's head to be released. Perhaps it is a sign that he’s getting more and more comfortable in his own skin, or at least, in the Hulk’s skin. Perhaps, and this is quite likely, it has to do with the fact that Darcy knows about these practices, and he doesn’t have to hide that part of him around her. 

Although, he bristles at Natasha’s suggestion.

“It’s one thing for Darcy to watch the Hulk fight.” He shakes his head at her, frustrated that the Widow’s impassive face brokers no response. “But to ask her to join us? Out of the question.”

“The point is for both her and Jane to learn how to fight and defend themselves. To train, Bruce.” Natasha crosses her arms in front of her, her legs spread wide. An assertive, confrontational stance, he notes. “They need to learn how to handle themselves when confronted with true danger.”

“I’d rather they not.” He rubs the corners of his eyes, blinking as he replaces his glasses. “I’d rather keep Darcy as far away as possible from the Hulk.” 

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “She’s not getting the Hulk today, though. Plus, do you want to tell her that incredibly paternalistic, over-protective thing you just said? I think Darcy would take that very well.”

Bruce blanches, but shakes his head. “This is a horrible idea.”

“Well, it’s not like you guys are going to let anything happen to us, right?”

Bruce and Natasha turn around, to find Darcy entering the training room, followed by Jane. Both are wearing workout gear. Bruce gives Jane a brief nod as she waves at him. He finds his attentions completely glued to Darcy. Her short black pants hug her thighs and rear tightly; there was no way he could not look at her gorgeously dangerous curves. His eyes travel up her body, swallowing when he realizes she is wearing his Culver University shirt.  

Darcy adjusts her glasses and futzes with her top. “Yeah, I totally ganked your shirt again. Don’t mind me getting it all nasty and sweaty?” she asks, her tone coy and playful.

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours.” Bruce walks over to her, knowing how worried he looks about this whole thing. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

“You’re not alone.” Jane jogs up to both of them. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“We won’t go full bore on you today.” This is Natasha, who is in the middle of putting together her Bite.  “We'll start on the less intense level. Clint and I will be taking you in, covering you.”

“Don’t worry, padawan. Not gonna let any laser blasts or wrecking balls harm a single hair on your head.” The voice, belonging to Clint Barton, swings in the air above them as he repels down, hitting the ground with a light bounce. He tugs his rope, and the line swirls and snaps back into a long, sleek, black arrow, which he replaces in his quiver.  

Darcy gapes at him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Clint just smirks and taps her on the head with his bow. “I’m Hawkeye. I’m _everywhere_. So, Nat, when’re we gettin’ this show started?”  In response, she glares back at him.

"Show-off."

They start right away. Bruce, this time, watches from the observation room, cup of  steaming unsweetened chamomile in hand. Darcy and Jane surprise him, making him feel a little bit better about Darcy’s training. Their sessions with Natasha, Clint and Cap have yielded good results. 

Darcy does very well herself, and Bruce has zero problem admitting to himself that he likes watching her move. From all different angles. He watches her intently, amazed that she can maneuver well, dodging the pesky, programmed energy discs that Tony had designed. 

Not to mention he is also getting slightly… aroused watching her newly-revealed physicality. It is exciting to watch her work out and exercise like this. Insanely exciting. He stares, shocked, watching Darcy practice target shooting. She takes aim at the discs and makes one, two, three… eventually six discs explode mid-air with only seven shots.  

Damn, Bruce thinks to himself, holding his cup in front of his face to hide his growing blush. Watching Darcy hold her gun, her legs spread out wide, face intent, determined to get her shot…

She is simply _fucking_ sexy _._ Damn.

He continues watching the exercises below. Clint taking over and working with Jane and Darcy on holding a bow and arrow.  Tony appears, drinking his preferred Scotch. Steve follows him into the room after a while with coffee mug in hand, likely filled with Steve’s preferred brew of burnt-all-to-hell, no cream, no sugar.  Thor is with him as well, looking upon the training below with unabashed pride. 

Bruce chuckles as he regards his teammate. “Both Jane and Darcy are doing great, you know. For civilians with no prior fighting experience.”

“Jane is, by nature, a nonviolent person. This I know well.” Thor is dressed in what Tony likes to call “casual Asgardian”; sleeveless armor and _sans_ cape. His arms are crossed in front of him, and he stands at full height, looking every inch the God of Thunder.  “She is of her mind, of science and learning. That is where her talents lie. However, the Lady Darcy, she is of a different breed.”

Bruce winces at his use of “breed”, as if Darcy is a horse or prized dog. But it is Thor, and he knows Thor does not mean it that way.

“She is made of the same steel that forged my sister-in-arms, the Lady Sif. Same as Natasha. They are made for fighting, for drawing blood. I hear it in Darcy’s voice when she speaks. Pure, raw honesty.” Thor nods at the melee below them, now increasing slightly in intensity, just by a quick perusal of the stat boards Tony installed next to the windows.

“I would like to arrange, very much, for Sif to meet her.” Thor says after a moment, nudging Bruce slightly as he watches them fight next to him. “Perhaps the Valkyrior might take both our women into their fold, train them and harness their powers and skills and teach them the ways of the warrior. Valkyrie would be most impressed." 

“Can’t say if Darcy’s ready to be recruited with your warrior goddesses quite yet, Thor,” Bruce replies with a bemused smile. "But you can ask her when she’s done.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m glad for you, Bruce. That you and Darcy are doing so well.”

For the first time, hearing someone other than Tony or Thor acknowledge his relationship with Darcy makes Bruce feel elated. He does not have to go around concealing yet another part of himself to others, to these people who he now thinks of as friends.  They don’t judge him for dating Darcy. They are happy for them. For him.

“Thank you, Steve.”

Steve continues watching the training room, watching Darcy run, dodge, and shoot.  There is a smile, wistful, on his face.  Bruce does not ask him what he’s thinking; though he read through his file provided by S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve is mostly a private man, and doesn’t come from an era where men so readily asked each other those types of questions.

Thus, it comes as a great surprise when Steve offers it up himself, with no prompting.  “Darcy reminds me of someone I once knew. Actually,” he chuckles softly, “two people." 

“Really?”  Bruce sees that both Tony and Thor are listening as well.

Steve nods. “She’s a little like Bucky, my best friend.” There is a slight hitch in his voice although he tries to hide it by taking a drink. “Just the way she talks about things, her sense of humor.” 

Steve stops talking for a second and he pulls in his bottom lip, chewing on it a little between his teeth.

“She’s also a hell of a lot like Peggy.”

Bruce knows exactly who he is talking about. Peggy Carter was all over his files. In the pictures that were included, several of them were of Captain America and his Howling Commandos, but a few included Howard Stark, Tony’s father, and the beautiful Peggy Carter. She had dark hair and full lips, and was curvaceous, just like Darcy. She looked like she brokered no bullshit, just like Darcy. In several of the pictures, the camera caught her and Steve gazing at each other. 

They were, _are,_ loaded images.

“She was your girl, Cap?” Bruce asks.

He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “For a second,” he replies after a few beats have passed. “She was the only dame… lady-” Steve sighs, and corrects himself again. “Woman... she was the only woman who really talked to me, gave me the time of day before I took the serum.” He flaps his hand at himself. “She didn’t take any garbage from anyone. Hell, she slugged one of the biggest guys I ever saw during boot camp one day.” He turns and faces Bruce. “I’d bet Darcy would have no problem socking a guy’s lights out.”

This makes Bruce laugh. “Except she’d use a Taser.”   

Steve turns back to the observation room, but Bruce notes that, this time, he’s not looking at anything. He stares straight ahead, tapping the wall absently with his toes.  “I only kissed her once, before I fought the Red Skull for the last time. I promised her a dance. And… that was it.”

The tone to his voice is heavy with regret; it slides off his words, filled with long-lost feelings and things that never were.  If there is one thing Bruce Banner can relate to, it is that feeling of loss over the life he once lived, and the people, the _person,_ he once loved. All of which were now gone.

Ironically, he thinks about the past ten years. Certainly, they had been hellish, but that intervening decade was integral in allowing him time and distance, helping him move on. Steve Rogers had had none of that; he had sacrificed himself to save the world and when he awoke, everything he ever knew and loved had disappeared. Yet, Rogers is here today, leading this ragtag team filled with dysfunction. Somehow, he remains sane. Bruce has no idea what the man's secret is, but it certainly makes Rogers a true inspiration. A real hero.

Tony, surprisingly, speaks up. “I met your girl. I met her quite a few times.”

Blinking, Steve snaps his head around. “Really? When?”

“When I was five. That was the first time I met ‘Aunt Peggy’.” Tony mimics quotation marks in the air. “Apparently, I was so smitten with her, that I proposed marriage about thirty minutes after she picked me up and put me on her lap.”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “She has that effect on people.”

Tony takes a couple of sips of the pungent Scotch that Bruce can smell about three feet away. “She was in her forties by then, but…. My _God,_ she was beautiful and funny and I remember even when I was a kid, the entire world disappearing when she was in the room.” 

“That’s Peggy. A hundred percent.” Steve raises his glass in the air. 

Tony takes a drink from his glass. “Showed me I like a woman who won’t take any shit. _My_ shit, most of all.” 

Bruce keeps an eye on the exchange, the other still focused on Darcy’s exercises downstairs. He lets the rest of their conversation, something about Tony’s planes and Steve flying to London, drone in the background as he watches Darcy kick and punch and shoot whatever the simulation throws at her. He marvels that she put herself through this rigorous training, and this complicated, strange relationship with him. She doesn’t compromise herself, and she constantly looks for ways to make herself stronger, both from the inside and on the outside.  

Darcy, Bruce thinks, is glorious. If she and Peggy Carter are even remotely alike, he completely understands how Peggy could have left such an indelible mark on a man as remarkable as Steve Rogers. 

By the end of two hours, the simulation is over.  They greet Darcy and Jane, sweaty from exertion and hard work. Jane is gulping water by the bottleful and Darcy jogs up to him, and he can tell she wants to hug him, but holds back, probably because she is sweating.

 _Delectably_ sweating. 

“So, did I look like I kicked much ass?” She makes a fist and flexes her arm. “Welcome to the _gun_ _show_!” She swivels the flexed appendage back and forth in front of Bruce, cocking her fingers like triggers. He grins stupidly, like a dopey, overly hormonal teenage boy with a massive crush.

“You were pretty amazing out there.” He says, sidling up to her. He ignores the droplets of sweat all over her skin, kissing her right in the middle of her moist forehead. Hell, even the sweat brings out the sweet scent of her hair, and he can’t help it, he lingers there a little bit longer.

“Yo, padawan!” Clint pokes at her shoulder with the tip of his bow, which he then folds up and holsters back on his shoulder. “Your shots are drifting to the right.  Gotta tighten that up.”

“Whatever. Did you see how many targets I got? I ruled that shit!” 

Clint flings his sweaty arm around Darcy’s neck and gives her the biggest of noogies. She loudly protests, swatting her arms fruitlessly. “You rule nothing, noob.” He releases her, and she sticks her tongue out at him. “Got a lot of work to do. But I have to admit, you catch on to this shit quick.”

“Damn straight I do.”  Darcy straightens up and hooks an arm around Bruce. “Any chance I can use you as a cane to walk me back up to my apartment?” She slouches and her formerly flexed arm now hangs limply at her side. “Everything’s hurts and is the soreness.”

They shamble back up the many floors to their apartments. Jane hitches along for the ride, ice packs aplenty attached to her back.

“I’m going to dump a truckload of ice into the tub and sit in it until I hurt no longer. Or die. Either one, whichever’s first.” The tiny astrophysicist says as she limps out of the elevator, holding it open for Darcy and Bruce to exit. 

“Well, if she’s going to be using your bathroom, do you want to come with me? I - I could draw you a bath at my place and you can have total run of the apartment.” Bruce leans into Darcy’s hair, whispering into her ear, his body not exactly responding innocently to the memory of her kicking, punching, and shooting guns and arrows...

“Yep! Jane, see ya later,” Darcy replies, with a not-at-all innocent grin. Jane waves her off.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

They make it, albeit a little awkwardly, back to Bruce’s place. She gingerly walks over to his bathroom after he leaves her in the kitchen to guzzle a gallon of water. He’s already fiddling with the nobs to get the water to a nice, steamy temperature in the enormous soaking tub. As Tony put it, the tubs in Stark Tower’s apartments are all roughly, “orgy-size”. 

“So… we’re gonna pretend that this isn’t about you getting all hot and bothered watching me kick ass today?” 

Bruce stares at her smirking, winking face. “It’s about… doing something nice for my lab-assistant- _cum_ -girlfriend.” He finds the bottle of bubble bath Tony had somehow stocked in all their apartments. It has a fancy French name and when he opens it, the scent of lavender fills his nose.

Darcy laughs as she whips off the Culver University shirt, revealing her sports bra to Bruce, which covers her ample bosom. Tightly. She approaches him, and he does not fail to notice the _swish swish swish_ of her hips as she closes the gap. “So, totally out of the goodness of your heart, right?”

“Um, right. Absolutely.” He is not sure about that at all, and he’s certain that the desirous look on his face, the hunger in his eyes, rooted and completely focused on her breasts, betray his attempt at feigning innocence. 

“Wanna join me?” 

Oh _God_ … 

“Bruce, we’re not talking doing anything _scandalous_. Just two adults, trying _really_ hard to get clean.” She pleads with him in an earnest-not-so-earnest voice and the winks and the sexy lopsided smile practically do him in. He does not yield...

Except that she strips off her workout pants, rolling them down her legs like sticky, wet wrappers revealing her curvy, smooth legs, and two perfectly round, impeccably formed buttocks nestled in a pair of black satin panties. 

She grins, as if she knows he is completely undone.

 

###

  

They start at separate ends of the bathtub. Their feet tangle first, because toes are almost always (mostly) innocent enough. Darcy drags her toes up both his legs. She lets her foot linger against his upper thigh. Then his inner thigh, which he quickly realizes is an area Darcy is very particular about, the way she circles and swirls her big toe around on his skin.  

Teasing. Definitely teasing him.

“Careful,” Bruce says, the warning belied by the hoarse, excited anticipation in his voice. “I can’t tell where your mind’s at, but that foot of yours is up to no good." 

“Believe me, my foot’s not the only thing that’s thinking about being naughty. My eyes took a gander at li’l Banner down below. All I gots to say is _hello_! I got your Earth’s _Mightiest_ Hero _riiiiiight_ there.” She makes a gesture with her hand, arched high in air above them, pointing directly at his crotch. 

“Shouldn’t have peeked.”

“I was never _not_ going to peek, silly. But.. I’m glad I did." 

Darcy crawls forward, slowly, on her hands, sliding them along the bathtub next to Bruce’s thighs. She doesn’t touch _him,_ but the sensation is no less potent. He shakes as she nears, her hair wet and flowing down her back in wet waves, her lips tantalizingly close to his. 

They manage, somehow, not to touch each other’s bodies, but that makes it no less thrilling. She kisses him, and it’s electric, the simple contact of her mouth after not touching him for so long. There is the taste of her lips, the bubbles from the soap tickles his skin… all of it is amazing.  Then, he’s on his knees in the tub, as well as Darcy, and their mouths are at war, clashing and biting and thrusting for more territory. 

He breaks away first, not wanting… well, yes _wanting…_ but not willing to risk a breach in his walls.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” He pants, his breath evening out after three puffs.

Darcy’s soapy, bubbly hands are on his face, her thumbs rubbing his cheeks. “You okay?” 

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I am.”  Blinking, he looks at her, an idea, one that might make both of them happy, and would help the physical part of their relationship progress a little more than it has been. 

Nodding, Bruce unplugs the tub, the bubbly water cycloning down the drain. 

“Aw, no more bubble bath?”

Holding up a finger, making Darcy wait for his answer, he draws the curtain shut around them and turns the shower on, rinsing off in the hot steamy water.  Surprisingly, he forgets that he’s completely naked in front of Darcy, who is equally naked. It doesn't really bother him as much as he thinks it should. After all, he's gotten used to waking up in strange places with nothing on while strangers gawk at him. When she sees him staring at her, her arms and hands jerk upwards, awkwardly attempting some sort of modest cover. 

Bruce finally gets a good look at Darcy’s figure. He had managed to give her a little privacy, turning his head away when she stripped down out of her panties and sports bra. However, now that they were both standing, now that the bubbles from the bath were rapidly draining away, there is nothing encumbering his view.

She is, as he had always known, gorgeous. She is sexy. Voluptuous. Bruce inhales.

“You are so beautiful.”

She blushes and gives him her best “Aw, shucks!” smile. “You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do. And you are very, very beautiful. Come here.”  He pulls her toward him so they’re both standing under the stream of water from the shower head. He takes her face in his hands and kisses her, gently. Breaking away, he looks at her, and her wet hair falls along with the water, into her face. 

“Um, let’s rinse off?” he says uncertainty clouding his voice. “I’ve got an idea.”

They finish cleaning themselves, keeping their hands on their own bodies, not touching each other. Which, for Bruce, is a Herculean task. He has a girlfriend who looks like Darcy Lewis and he’s _not_ touching her all the time. It is utterly ridiculous. 

When he senses a conspiratorial snort from the Other Guy itching at the back of his brain, he is reminded why.

They dry off with the very fluffy towels Tony provided for them. Bruce gets his nice, old brown robe, soft from age and wear and covers himself up. Darcy wraps herself in a thick Stark Tower towel.  Winding his arms around her from behind, Bruce gently nudges her out the bathroom door, in the direction of his bed.  

Darcy giggles. “You are totally _randy_ tonight. That’s it.” She spins around. “Totally renaming you Randy. Randy Banner, the sexy… oh!” 

Using his fingertips, Bruce gently pushes her down onto the bed and hovers over her, his right hand gliding over the edge of her towel, moving up and down the opening suggestively.

“So, I got this idea.”

“I’m not one to stand between a scientist and his ideas. Go on,” Darcy says, her voice sounding a little huskier than before. “Hit me.” 

His fingers slightly tremble from his nerves. “We’ve been taking things slow, on my account.”

“To make sure you don’t get a ragin’ Hulk-rection.” She mocks laughing. “Heh heh. See what I did there?” He can tell she is slightly nervous too, the way her own voice shakes.

Bruce bites his lip, but he positions himself as if he is about to slide his hand further inside the towel.  “Would you allow me to lay you down?”

Darcy visibly gulps and her face flushes. “That? Is the sexiest thing I’ve ever had anyone say to me.”  She crawls back on her elbows until she is completely flat on her back. Bruce stretches out next to her on his side, his hand now resting on her chest, but his fingers twiddling around the towel’s edge, precariously. Provocatively.

“Would you let me do some things to you?” He keeps a straight face, even though Darcy’s eyes grow comically big. Bigger than her entire face. “I think that might be a good way to avoid the whole pulse issue for me, while easing both of us into… another level of physical intimacy.” His free hand wraps itself on the top of her head, running through her hair, brushing it gently. “Think of it kind of like an experiment.”

“Y-yeah! I mean, well… if you’re wanting to test your hypothesis. I guess I’ll just suck it up, take one for the team,” she says, her voice suddenly whispery.

“Good.” He kisses her forehead.  “Because I want to test some theories that I’ve been developing.” His lips move over each eye, her lids fluttering underneath. “I want to make note of your reactions when I…” He whispers into her ear, nervous and shaky, but it makes no difference because she gasps and slams her lips on his. 

“Okay…” she says after a few moments, although he’s found a few spots on her neck that he really, really enjoys kissing. And sucking. And nipping. “But what about you?”

He looks up as he moves over her collarbone. “That’s beyond the hypothesis.” 

“Bruce-”

“Like I said before,” he interjects, as his lips arrive to the top part of the towel wrapped around her chest. “Beyond the hypothesis. We’ll get to me later.” He takes his time undoing the folds just above her breasts. Looking up at her one last time before he continues, just to make sure she is okay with what he’s about to do, she nods. Very quickly, her hand swirling impatiently. 

“Oh my _God_ , do not ever stop!” 

Smiling, he takes apart her towel, leaving her totally naked before him.  He takes a few moments to let his eyes travel over her body, to allow his hand exploration of her valleys and curves. He finds she fits neatly into his palm, and her skin responds perfectly to his fingers and mouth. He loves hearing her gasp, her breath shaking as he makes contact. 

His head hovers right above her navel, and he kisses her belly. She arches in surprised, but definitive reply. He cannot help but think his hypothesis is correct as he presses a smile just below her hips and her hand rakes through his curls.

 

_###_

 

Bruce notices that Darcy is far more relaxed after that, and for the next few days following. He feels awful that he didn’t instigate something earlier on, because it was a very successful experiment. Quite possibly his most successful experiment ever. Furthermore, seeing Darcy wonder around the lab, working as hard as she normally does but with a goofy grin and dreamy expression every time their eyes meet is as close to a perfect sight as he will ever get.

Although, strangely and oddly enough, reality has a way of settling in. 

Darcy strides up to him one day about a week later, and folds her hands together as she leans on his work station. “Have you written it yet?”

Bruce looks away from his screen and focuses on Darcy over his lowered glasses. “Written what?”

“That email to Betty, of course. The one I thought you’d been considering ever since we left Fury’s office.”

Taking off his glasses, Bruce rubs his eyes, tired from the inside out. Yes, he had been strongly considering emailing Betty, had thought about it at least once every morning as he checked his own email, and at least twice throughout the day, every day since Darcy mentioned it. And he had opened a draft, had typed in the first part of the email address as seen from the document that Fury have given him…

He had been unable to produce so much as a “Hello”.

“Yes… I mean, no. Haven’t written it yet. Have thought about it, though.”

Darcy crosses her arms, practically falling across the work station. Her face is tantalizingly close to Bruce’s. “What’s stopping you?”

“W-well,” he stammers, suddenly nervous by both her proximity to him and her fixation on one of his exes.  “I’ve, um… I've never been good at confronting things. And if I talk to Betty again-”

“Confronting the past and all sorts of philosophical pablum?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Darcy smacks her hand on the counter. “Well then, maybe I should write it for you. But, like, in your voice. You can read it, and then _voilà_!”  

Bruce stands back a ways from the station. He crosses his arms and studies her for a few moments. “Why are you so interested in this? In me reestablishing communication with Betty?”

She scrunches her lips together to the right side of her face and walks around the station. “Honestly? I think there’s something up with her that needs looking into, something that interests S.H.I.E.L.D. a great deal, and if she’ll tell anyone about it, she'll tell you. Also, I’m really trying, very _very_ hard to be the awesome give-no-fucks current girlfriend, who’s totally chill and cool with your exes. Finally, I think it’d be a good test for you to actually _talk_ to someone from your past, and Betty seems like the best place to start.”

Bruce unfolds his arms and wraps them around her, holding her close to him. “How is it I have two decades on you, and yet, you are far wiser than me?” 

“It _is_  a hard burden to bear, and yet, I totally do.” False modesty drips from her words. She smiles as she kisses him, laughing and swirling  her nose against his.

By the afternoon, Bruce has his letter to Betty written. It takes him approximately thirty minutes... Well, thirty-two minutes, twelve seconds, but who’s counting? It consists of five lines, thirty-eight words, and he reads it over approximately twenty times. Darcy reads it once.

“It’s fine. I’m telling you, it’s totally fine,” she insists. 

Bruce rubs his lower lip with his index finger, picking slightly at a tiny flap of chapped skin, thanks to him constantly biting it for the past thirty minutes. Forty-two minutes, actually, ten minutes before he actually started writing the letter.  “Are you sure?” 

“I’m _sure._ ” She reads it again. “‘ _Hi Betty. It’s been a while since we last spoke. I hope you’re doing well. I’d like to meet at some point and catch up, if it works out for you. Hope to hear from you soon. Bruce’._ ” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s really a bit…” 

“Informal?”

Darcy nods. “Stodgy. There’s none of your personality in it.”

“I have a personality?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow up. Darcy rolls her eyes.

“You have a lot of personality, and not just the Other Guy either.” She nudges him over and starts typing, the tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips. The image is wholly adorable. 

“There. All it needs is your approval and hit send and we can go get lunch, because I’m _starving._ ”

Bruce reads over Darcy’s version:

“ _Hi Betty. I hope life has found you well. I’ve embarked on an interesting new direction in my own. If you ever find yourself in New York, call me and we can grab some coffee and catch up. Looking forward to talking with you again. -Bruce._ ”

He chuckles, “Um, it’s nice, but Betty will know instantly that I didn’t write it. It’s too flowery. She knows I hate email.”

His heart sinks as the color from Darcy’s face drains, and he realizes what he said steps over some unspoken line between his past with Betty and his current relationship with Darcy. Note to self, Bruce thinks, pointing out something that Betty would certainly know about him that Darcy doesn’t yet is not a great idea. Yet, he sits like a fish, gaping for a few moments before he remembers he’s not actually mute, that he could apologize for his tactlessness. 

“Darcy, I-”

“Never mind,” she says abruptly, and restores his draft. “I’m just going to go…” Darcy lets her voice trail off, never saying where she’s going, but she picks up her purse and walks out of the lab, the sliding doors shutting behind her. 

He sinks back into his chair and rubs his eyes with his wrist. She didn’t seem angry at all, but it was clear just those couple of sentences he uttered really affected her. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Can you tell me where Darcy is?”  

There is a pause. “She is in Dr. Foster’s lab, attempting to convince her to go to lunch because, as she puts it, she requires a ‘girl talk confab’.”

“Thanks.” He refuses to eavesdrop any further, instead opting to rub his temples.  He’ll let Darcy talk and do what she needs to do with Jane, and maybe she’ll come back and everything will be okay. Bruce turns back to his emails and finds Darcy’s trashed copy of his letter to Betty. He takes a second to give it a once-over, and, with a determined nod, hits ‘send’.” 

Betty might know he didn’t write it, but that didn’t matter to him. What mattered was trying to make things right with Darcy, however he was going to do that.

Surprisingly, though, Darcy makes it easy for him by returning to the lab after a slightly long lunch with Jane. She drops her purse on the work station and glides over to him, pulling him into a tight squeeze, rocking them both slightly as she does so. 

“I stormed out. Sorry.”

Bruce kisses her temple. “By my count, I should apologize. I think all you crazy kids say ‘suck’ these days? I ‘ _suck’_ at this dating thing, so I should’ve known better. And you didn’t storm out. You just didn’t say where you were going.”

She bows her head, meeting his forehead with hers. “I got this stupid flare-up of jealousy in my head, in which I imagined you and Betty in about a hundred different versions, all laughing at my dumbass emails while sipping champagne and eating arugula and my brain saying how I don’t know you at all, and I didn’t want to be a huge baby about any of it.”

“All that was going on in your head?”

“Yep. My brain. Always a vast conspiracy against me.”

He runs his palm down the back of her head, smoothing her long, thick hair all the way down her back. “Tell your brain to stop that then. And I’m sorry too. I can’t be too certain, but I think I broke several rules there, with what I said about emails and Betty.”

Darcy smiles, favoring the right side of her face. “Yours was an issue with words. Mine was an issue with psychological fuckery.”

“Let’s call it a draw,” he offers. “Let’s get back to work. I think I’ve figured out something in my calculations that will help us pin down Sterns’ location. And then, if you’ve forgiven me completely, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

Darcy squeals delightedly and they seal the deal with a kiss.  

They work, quite diligently, as Darcy posts images, graphs, and charts detailing the faint gamma signature emitted by Sterns over the past four years. It is close to six o’clock when her stomach betrays her, grumbling furiously.

“Ugh. Hunger games.” She rubs her tummy pointedly. “Can we break?”

Bruce keys in some more data before responding. “Yes. Ready now.”

Grabbing coats and Darcy’s purse, they are in the elevator when Darcy mentions something about one of the surveillance pictures of Sterns that struck her as odd. 

“I don’t know… there was something, um, familiar? Yeah, familiar. Something about him when he was busting out of S.H.I.E.L.D. custody.” 

The doors slide open to reveal the ground floor. Bruce lets her leave first, holding the doors at bay with his hand. “In what way?”  

“I don’t know… But I feel like it’s there. Right there, in the back of my brain. Can’t shake it, either. Feel like it’s something to do with his head.” Darcy wraps her scarf around her neck, pulling the ends through the loop just before they reach the entrance of the tower itself. There is only a skeleton crew at the lobby area, as it is after six o’clock. A couple of janitors are buffing the shiny granite floors and emptying out trash cans. 

They barely notice a slender woman, standing up from the couches, a beige trench coat folded over her arms.  Bruce sees her figure, but is too distracted by his conversation with Darcy to take full notice.  It is not until she is a few yards away from them that he can see her face emerge from the shadow, and his heart stops suddenly. A million memories, feelings, all which he thought were in the past and behind him, torment his brain. He can hear the Big Guy, in the back of his head, roar as he tries to break free.  

It is Betty Ross. In the flesh. 

“Hello, Bruce.”

He feels Darcy still next to him too and after the day they had, he has some idea what she could possibly be thinking, but he has zero idea what to tell her. 

“That was one quick email.” It is all he can think to say.


	11. Of Ranch Dressing, Ex-Girlfriends, and Surprising Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m giving it to you. Short of snatching a justice of the peace, I am here telling you that you have me. Boobs, ass, heart. All of me. I’m yours.”
> 
> Darcy makes a confession and deals with the ghosts of Bruce's past. Also, the Hulk! And does the Hulk have a new friend now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the huge delay in getting this chapter out. Multiple things, life, being stupid, writer's block, studies, raising a toddler… they just got in the way.
> 
> Updates are going to be sporadic, but I am determined to finish this sucker. It may take another year, but I'm trying LOL!
> 
> Thank you, anyone who's wanting to continue reading this. I really appreciate it!

Darcy shuffles around in her purse, which feels bottomless and messy and a perfect metaphor for her life right now. Lipstick. Tampon. Dollar bill. Lint… more lint. Random change.

_A-ha!_

Earbuds. Brilliant. She needs a heavy, heavy dose of Amy Winehouse right now. She might follow it up with some Adele, and Sarah McLachan. Maybe, just maybe, if she feels she hasn’t been kicked in the ovaries enough tonight, some Return of the Mack. Nothing like busting her eardrums to semi-popular 90’s hip-hop to get over the reappearance of your beau’s ex.

She gets the earbuds in, wanders around the common kitchen area searching desperately for something to quell her monstrously loud stomach. Dinner plans have been scraped. Betty sashayed into Stark Tower with her model face and gorgeous body dressed like she was getting ready to do yoga and carrying the most awesome trench coat Darcy’s ever laid eyes on, asks to speak to Bruce alone without nearly a glance in Darcy’s direction, which means tonight is all blown to hell.

The worst part? After the initial shock of seeing Betty Ross in person, standing in front of them both, Bruce could hardly get his own name out, much less hers. And how did he introduce her?

“Um, Betty, this is…”

She nodded at him, encouraged him mentally to say, “My girlfriend.” Hell, she would’ve taken a, “my friend with certain benefits,” by the time he got around to realizing he needed to say something.

“This is… Darcy. Darcy Lewis.” 

That’s what came out of his mouth. A somewhat brief and flaccid addendum of, “She works in my lab,” and before Darcy could properly give him the stink-eye, Betty yanked him away, asking for a little privacy and maybe, just maybe, the opportunity to boink him.

“Fail,” Darcy says, grumpily tossing away an unappetizing container of lowfat Greek yogurt, tossing it far back into the fridge. Where was the chocolate? She could do with all the chocolate. Maybe some cosmopolitans. Or the Three-Buck Chuck she and Jane keep in their apartment.

She grabs a salad and some leftover chicken that doesn’t smell rancid - “Yay,” she says, her voice monotone - and goes to work on making the biggest chicken salad ever. Cheese, so much cheese, croutons, and thank the fucking stars for whoever decided to buy ranch dressing. As she dumps practically half the bottle on her plate, one of her favorite break-up jams blares forth from her trusty iPod-

_“FOR YOU, I WAS A FLAME! LOVE IS A LOSING GAME!”_

She belts, as loud as she wants. Although normally she’s all fuck it with fire when shit like an ex-girlfriend comes back into the picture, this, for some reason, stings so much worse. Far worse than catching Wesley schtupping that tall, gorgeous ex-girlfriend of his.

“Dammit!” She says, almost cracking the plate holding her salad on the countertop. She takes a breath, and starts shoveling mouthfuls of ranch-drenched salad into her mouth. In between bites, she manages to belt out various lines from the Adele song, currently on repeat-

_“HATE TO TURN UP OUTTA THE BLUE UNINVITED, BUT I COULDN’T STAY AWAY, COULDN’T FIGHT IT! I HAD HOPED YOU’D SEE MY FACE AND THAT YOU’D BE REMINDED THAT FOR ME, IT ISN’T OVERRR-”_

She is almost positive that it’s her time of the month and that’s why everything just… way too much right now. Betty’s arrival is super totally perfectly timed then.

Really _fucking_ great.

“First? Billie Holliday you are not. Also, if you used up all the ranch in the fridge I will personally throw you to the wolves, I have no sympathy for this little pity party you appear to be throwing yourself.”

Darcy glares at Tony Stark, his nearly worn-through AC/DC shirt glowing in the center from his arc reactor. Bruce was trying to tell her about it one day, without getting too science-jargony about it, but the gist that Darcy got of it was that it somehow kept Tony Stark alive. Not quite an artificial heart, more like a homemade magnet, without which he would die. He plops himself down right next to her.

“Go away,” she mumbles. “Don’t wanna hear it.”

He leans on his elbows with his back against the counter. “Look, Charlie Brown, I’m not one for any of…” He waves a hand vaguely in front of her, motioning at her entire self, “whatever emo bullshit major damage you kids are going on about these days, but you look pathetic. Like, Eeyore pathetic. Like someone took your puppy dog, dipped it ranch dressing and tossed the poor thing into a pit of Chitauris.”

She lets her head drop pathetically near her plate, almost certain that she’s dipping what was once some cute fringy bangs into creamy ranch. “Tony, do you see how many fucks I give?” She holds up one hand, middle finger extended. “Wait, wait, there’s more where that came from and BLAMMO!” She holds up her other hand, flipping him off fiercely. “Seriously, do not mess with me.”

Tony sighs, long and dramatically, and she wishes her dinner came with a knife so she can stab him in the eye.

“You wanna tell your Uncle Tony what’s going on? Or wait, let me guess… is it this?” He flicks his wrist in mid-air, and a holographic screen pops up floating in front of them. Darcy’s eyes bug out when she realizes Tony’s showing her a live feed from inside Bruce’s lab, with Bruce and Betty deep in conversation. Betty, clad in the clingy workout outfit has completely lost the adorable trenchcoat somewhere in her office. Darcy decides she’ll have kittens if that coat is somewhere on her workspace. Either that, or she’ll totally steal it.

“This is… That’s-”

“Betty Ross, I presume.” Tony shrugs. “I’ve been watching her ever since J.A.R.V.I.S. notified me of her presence, about an hour ago.”

“She’s been in there with Bruce for about fifteen minutes. I think.” Darcy cannot look away from the gross invasion of privacy. Besides, she wants to be the first to know if or when Bruce decides to take Betty Ross over his workstation and start throwing the Banner pipe, so to speak.

“Going on thirty-five minutes, twelve seconds, actually. Thirteen… fourteen...” 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Darcy shakes her head, but she can’t even blink, too afraid to take her eyes off the screen. “This is some Patriot Act-level business.”

“It is totally like the Patriot Act, and I am a horrible person, so I’ll just put this away-”

“No!” Darcy grabs his wrist and shakes it violently. “You keep that up or die!”

“Duly noted.” Tony makes a little tossing motion with his wrist and leans forward on the counter, staring at the feed as well. “Do you want to know if they kissed yet?”

She spins around so fast, she strains her neck.

“Spoiler alert; they haven’t.”

Darcy returns to the hologram screen of both Bruce and Betty. “Is there sound on this thing?” 

“J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Sir, might I remind you of your discussion with Dr. Banner, and the perils of eavesdropping in on colleagues-” 

“Understood, but just this once, humor me.”

The A.I. sighs resignedly, but the silent stream from the lab snaps on immediately.

 _“I’m surprised you didn’t try to contact me earlier.”_ It was Betty, standing a foot or two from Bruce, her hands folded in front of her. There is smile on her face, gentle and slightly teasing… like she’s flirting with him.

Bruce keeps his head lowered, shuffling his feet back and forth. _“There’s been a lot of stuff going on here, Betty. A lot of personal things. Things I didn’t know how to talk to you about.”_

“Oh my GOD! How hard is it to say you’re seeing someone!” Darcy nearly throws her fork across the room. She’s really tempted to Hulk Smash her way to Bruce’s lab, but, instead, she grabs the countertop and keeps her mouth shut.

“This is Bruce Banner we’re talking about. The king of eluding conflict,” Tony sagely offers.

“Doesn’t make any of this feel less shitty.”

They are interrupted by Steve and Clint, coming into the kitchen for dinner, Steve wearing his shield on his back and his uniform without the cowl, and Hawkeye, setting his quiver down next to the dining island. “What’s this?” Steve asks, going around behind both Tony and Darcy to see what was on the screen. “Who’s Bruce talking to?”

“Yeah, who’s the hottie?”

She stares at Clint, hoping his face bursts in a horrible fiery, bloody explosion. “I hate you. She’s Bruce’s ex.”

To her abject horror and supreme annoyance, Clint whistles obnoxiously. “The man has great taste. Present company included.”   She throws her napkin at his head. “Still hate you.”

“Tony, first of all, it’s not good form to spy on your teammates.”

Stark points an accusatory finger at her. “Darcy made me do it.”

“Shut up, Stark!”

“Second,” Steve continues, pouring a glass of water for himself. “You have nothing to worry about, Darcy. Bruce genuinely likes you. He thinks the world of you.”

She gulps, her throat feeling constricted, tight. “I hope so.”

“Why is she here?” Natasha, who appears out of nowhere, all stealthily, asks.

“Y’know, it might have something to do with whatever goods S.H.I.E.L.D. has on her and her bastard of a father.” Tony takes a glib, slightly defiant tone with her, but the spy stares at him, confused.

“What do you mean? I know that they’ve been in touch with S.H.I.E.L.D. for years while Bruce was on the run. But S.H.I.E.L.D. has nothing on them.”

“It looks like you’re out of the loop on this one,” Tony retorts tartly.

They watch the action, which, in reality, was mostly dialogue. Bruce and Betty circle each other, and the conversation is escalating, growing more heated. Darcy tenses watching them, and she can feel the rest of the room tensing too.

_“Look,”_ Betty says in her soft, but firm voice, _“I know he’s done horrible things to you. And I hated him for that, for a long time, but he’s still my father.”_

_“No, Betty. What that man, the man you call father, what he did to me was make me feel ashamed of myself. Like I was subhuman. Good for nothing more than military use and abuse.”_

_“I know.”_

_“He made my life a living hell. I took myself away from you, from my career, from everything that meant anything to me, and he still kept coming after me. So don’t expect me to feel sympathy for him. Not now!”_

Darcy scoots forward, her eyes and ears glued to the scene. What was this? Betty had to know talking about General Ross would make Bruce angry. He was getting very, very angry.

Was this intentional? Why the hell was she here?

_“Believe me, if there was any other person, anyone else who has the knowledge and the expertise that you do, I’d be there right now.”_

_“I’ve heard that line before. Are you sure you’re not one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s lackeys?”_

Standing next to her, Darcy notices Natasha wince. She looks at the assassin, who appears slightly contrite. “I said something similar when I was sent to retrieve him for the Tesseract.”

_“I’m not! He doesn’t even know I’m here asking for your help. He wouldn’t have wanted me to ask, but it’s not just for him.”_

She cannot see Bruce’s face all that well, just the top of his head, but she sees him slowly remove his glasses and place them on the table behind him. _“What do you mean, ‘not just for him’.”_

 _“I… I can show you, but you’re going to get angry.”_ The shift in her voice, her nervousness, is palatable. Darcy feels it streaming across the feed, pouring into the room. Everyone is alert. Steve cracks his knuckles. There is shuffling all around Darcy, and she knows they’re readying for something.

A possible Hulk-out, it seems. Oh God, she thinks, her thoughts turning toward the lab, jealousy of Bruce’s ex all but evaporating. Betty needs to get the hell out of there _tout de suite._

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Cap says, almost needlessly. “Everyone, stand at alert.”

 _“Betty, what is it?”_ Bruce, too, seems to notice something’s not right.

_“Promise me you won’t get angry, Bruce. Promise.”_

_“Betty, I can’t-”_

_“Promise me. For the sake of everyone in this tower.”_

Bruce shakes his head. He goes quiet, the kind of quiet Darcy knows too well, when he can’t think of anything to say and he’s trying to gauge the status of his emotional and psychological well-being.

Betty says nothing. Standing like she’s girding herself for some unforeseeable event, she backs slowly away from Bruce. The projection enlarges as she moves further and further away. 

And then she roars. A roar exactly like the Hulk’s. 

Darcy’s heart stops and the rest of the room gasps as they watch Betty Ross’s body grow. Her muscles get bigger, her skin gets redder, and she grows. Two, three, four times her height. 

She already knows what’s going to happen next. Bruce’s shoulders are hunched. His hands are tearing at his hair, as if trying to pull it out of his scalp in big handfuls. His shirt starts tearing, and his back grows green right before her eyes. 

J.A.R.V.I.S.‘ smooth British accent cuts into the air above them. “Sir, Dr. Banner’s pulse rate is approaching 170. It is well beyond the ‘danger zone’. I have already engaged the Hulk protocols.”

“Noted.” Steve Rogers already has his shield off his back and on his arm. “J.A.R.V.I.S. evacuate the building. All maintenance, lab personnel on R&D levels, and alert security to the situation in Bruce’s lab. Seal those floors after evac.”

There is no time, no chance for the team to stop. The roar of both Hulks break through the barriers of the building, shaking the tower, and they are all going up the stairs because the elevator would take too long, arming themselves as they run.

And Darcy, who runs back to her room to grab her trusty Taser, follows them.

 

###

 

When she reaches Bruce’s lab, she is greeted by smashed glass and walls. A flying desk, narrowly missing her head. She ducks, thanking all the world that Natasha has managed to teach her well. The art of dodging, indeed. She’s sending the assassin the best vodka she can afford as thanks. Possibly Smirnoff, but whatever.

It’s World War Hulk, and it’s a doozy.

The others are right ahead of her, and she approaches them just as Tony snaps his face plate on. 

“You’re severely underdressed for this mission, Beverly Hills.”

“What’s the plan?” she asks him, desperate to do something, help Bruce de-Hulk somehow.

“Darcy, I don’t advise you being here,” Cap says, ducking as another work station comes hurling out of the lab. 

“Can it!” Darcy is frantic. Sure, she’s not thinking straight, but it’s Bruce, out of his mind, insane with anger, and damn if she’s not going to do everything in her power to help him. “You saw how I was able to handle him in the training room. I may be the best shot to calm him down.” 

Steve opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it as they dodge another table and some computer screens.  “Okay, I don’t like this, but we’ll try to temper the situation first before you go in there.”

Darcy nods. “Whatever. Just do something!”

Thor bolts through the elevator. “Your J.A.R.V.I.S. informed me of Banner’s transformation and that we have another Hulk in the building. Is this true?” 

Cap nods. “Yes. Thor, I need you and Tony in there first. Try to separate Betty and Bruce, and get her restrained. Nat, Clint and I will try to subdue the Hulk. You two flank him and I’ll approach him head-on. Darcy, we’ll signal for you to come in.” Cap stops and looks back into the room for the briefest of moments, skepticism etched across his face. “If we get the situation under control.” 

She nods. 

Iron Man and Thor enter the room first, speeding toward the rampaging beasts. Their entrance is enough to distract the two hulks only briefly. 

“Hey! Big Guy, how about we unhand the nice giant red lady and sit down for a chat. We’ll make Bruce’s favorite tea - _OOF!_ ” Darcy shrinks as she sees the Hulk, green Bruce-Hulk, swat Tony against the wall as if he were little more than a fly.

Thor wraps his arms around the red Betty-Hulk, but she fights him back. “RELEASE ME!”

“Stand down, great she-hulk,” Thor bellows, his voice straining against her, which freaks Darcy out; clearly Betty, in her hulk form, was close to Thor’s equal strength-wise. _Shit_ , she thinks. Double the trouble. 

“Nay, we cannot let you destroy the tower of Stark! It is our home, and many innocents roam the halls - _YEEARGH!_ ” Thor wraps his arms around Betty’s body, attempting to pin her arms against her. She struggles, and somehow finds a way to wriggle out of his grasp. How she is able to get the better of Thor, Darcy cannot say, but suddenly, Betty has Thor pinned against the wall, pounding him with her fists.

“THIS DOES NOT CONCERN YOU! THIS IS BETWEEN BRUCE AND ME!” 

The Hulk let out a tremulous roar that shakes the rafters of the nearly-decimated lab. Darcy could just make out the smaller figures of Clint and Natasha, firing arrows and tranquilizer darts respectively; they’re staying some distance away, but still bouncing to avoid the falling debris as the two beasts tear at each other. 

Bruce’s green Hulk lets out a bone-crushing bellow as Betty’s red Hulk struggles against him.

“WHO DID THIS! HULK SMASH! HULK KILL THEM!”

“NO, HULK! YOU SHOULDN’T KILL! YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!” Betty-Hulk is pleading now.

This tells Darcy one very important thing; Betty’s Hulk is far more conversant than Bruce’s. Okay, good to know. Betty could be reasoned with. Especially since fighting her, the approach Thor and Tony were taking, appears to be failing spectacularly. 

Cap, Natasha and Clint work on ducking the debris from both Hulks fighting. The lab crumbles around them, with big chunks of ceiling and wall collapsing on the Avengers.

“Hulk! Bruce - stand down!” Cap’s voice rings out among the roar of the beasts, who are now locked arm-to-arm. Hulk explodes, and swings Betty into the wall, smashing her into it until she falls through a Hulk-sized hole. Clint shoots a number of arrows at both Hulks, but though they are big targets, they move too quickly for the arrows to connect. 

“Stark, how about improving these Hulk tranqs with a goddamn tracking device next time?” Clint shouts above the rubble. “Ditto the tranq darts!” Natasha yells subsequently.

“Always with the demands, Hawkguy,” Tony says, grunting as he tries to blast both Hulks with his suit. Not only do they not work, but both monsters turn on Stark and roar at him.

 This is only making both Betty and Bruce angrier, Darcy thinks. When a chunk of ceiling falls _thisclose_ to her head, she springs into action.

Running from her cozy hiding corner, which is now currently covered in lung-clogging dusty debris, Darcy runs toward the fray. She is frightened, freaked out, and fairly certain she’s probably going to get smashed either by a Hulk fist or by part of the laboratory. But whatever the Avengers are trying to do isn’t stopping the raging Hulk haterade that’s threatening to topple Stark Tower.

So, she needs to try a different tack.

“H-hey!” She waves her arms at Bruce and Betty. They cannot hear her over their attacks. 

She shuts her eyes, draws in the deepest of breaths, and screams from the top of her lungs, the way she saw Betty yell his name on the video from the Hulk’s campus attack. 

“Bruce!” 

The Hulk stops raging at Betty and the rest of the team and starts charging her. Darcy screams as she flails backwards, stumbling over a fallen desk. She is on the ground, debris cutting into her hands, crawling away from the flash of green skin and enormous muscle coming right at her-

“Bruce! Please… it’s m-me! Darcy!”

Her arm is in front of her face, bracing for the attack, and all she can do is plead with the Hulk, say Bruce’s name over and over again, hoping he’ll somehow hear her. 

The punch never comes. Instead, she feels streams of warm, moist breath pummelling her face, her hair flying behind her, caught in the Hulk’s gale force wind.

She looks up in front of her. Bruce’s hulkified face is lowered right in front of hers. 

“Bruce,” she says now, softer, shakier than before. “It… it’s me. Darcy.” She puts both hands up in front of her, her Taser at her side. She isn’t entirely sure she won’t need it; hell, who knows at this point.

The Hulk lets out a growl, perhaps more to test her, to see if she’ll run. She does not. She stays put, right where she is. 

Faster than she can say, “Holy Hulking Nutsack!” she is hauled, lifted off the floor, and heaved across the Hulk’s huge, green shoulder. He starts running, out of the now-destroyed laboratory. Darcy can hear the yells and screams of the rest of the team, pleading with the Hulk to set her down gently, to not hurt her. She wonders just how Tony Stark was able to design a building, much less a hallway, that can somehow take the Hulk’s steps with little damage other than him leaving behind sets of ginormous footprints. 

She does not have time to ponder long, as they turn a corner and reach a large set of doors with construction tape around them. They are the elevators that lead to the bottom floor, the training room and the Hulk’s personal “relaxation forest.”

And, of course, the elevator is still under construction.

“Hulk… Hulk! It’s not working! We’re on one of the top floors; you can’t-”

Her own scream cuts her words short as the Hulk’s arms and hands squeeze her close to his chest. With an earth-shattering roar, the Hulk busts through the closed elevator doors. As there is no elevator in the shaft, the fall is straight down. Given the Hulk’s bulk, it is fast, like a roller coaster. The chicken salad she consumed earlier shoots straight to her throat and she knows she’s going to lose her lunch.

“Hulk! Oh my God! Shit shit shit!” She screams into his chest. _Wearegoingtodie… Wearegoingtodie… Wearegoingto…._

They hit the ground with a tremendous THUD, the impact clanking her teeth together so hard she thinks her jaw is broken. 

But they are in one piece, nothing broken, although the same cannot be said for the floor beneath the Hulk’s feet. That is shattered beyond repair. Well, actually, she wouldn’t put anything past Tony Stark - he would find a way to repair anything, especially if it was alleviate Bruce’s guilt over the Hulk’s destruction. 

“Are… are you okay?” She manages to find her voice, but all she gets is a noncommittal grunt in reply. The Hulk is already bounding down the hall, toward the practice room. J.A.R.V.I.S. opens the door the moment they reach it, and the Hulk barrels both of them into the forest room. The door to that room opens as well, and he hauls her inside with him. 

When he finally puts her down, he is, surprisingly, gentle. He unfolds his hands, his arms which had pressed her solidly against his chest. She unsticks from his skin, covered in sweat and dust from the now-crumbled lab. Her face stings in a few places, as does her hands, and she knows those are cuts. 

“DARCY HURT!” The Hulk jabs a finger, clumsy and inelegantly, at her face.

“D-Darcy… is okay, big man.” She smiles at him, nervous, shaky, still very scared from what she witnessed between the Hulks so many floors above. Instead of bolting, rather than running away however, she pats him on the arm, forcing her hand to be as steady as possible. “You brought me down here to, uh… to rest?”

Snorting a grunt in response, the Hulk takes his seat in front of the simulated waterfall. Darcy stands behind him, struggling to keep her breath even, steady. She hears the quickening footfalls of the rest of the team, coming to meet them. 

Shutting her eyes, Darcy makes a quick decision. “J.A.R.V.I.S., shut the doors to Bruce’s meditation room.”

“Miss Lewis, I would advise allowing the others in here to assist-”

“J.A.R.V.I.S.” She hears the control returning, slowly sure, but it is there. “We need a moment, okay? We’ll be fine, they can wait outside.”

“As you wish, Miss Lewis.” The doors slide shut. Darcy takes a deep breath and sits down on a smooth-top “rock” beside the Hulk. She is just about to reach out and touch his arm, but she pauses.

“Oh… what the hell.”

She leans into him, stiffly at first, because she’s not entirely sure that he won’t flick his arm out and whack her all the way across the room. Splattered Darcy might not be a good for zen time.

Instead, the Hulk remains seated. He does not move away, nor does he relax. She uses the opportunity to fall back a little more into his body.

“Um, comfortable?” She raises her eyes at him. The Hulk responds with a great huff of air from his nose… but his arm fall loose to his side, and she takes this as an invitation to recline further against him. 

They sit like this for a while, and Darcy is almost falling asleep when she notices Bruce’s body appearing, slumped and tired from the day.

###

“Darcy, I’m so-”

“You say sorry one more time, Dr. B, and I will smack those adorable glasses right off your face.” 

Bruce blushes as he dabs more antiseptic on Darcy’s cheek. “I’m not even sure how you can still talk to me after what happened.”

“Must be my forgiving nature,” she says with a slight bite. She still hadn’t forgotten the conversation that they witnessed prior to Bruce and Betty both Hulking out. Betty Ross, still Hulked out, still in control of her body and mind, is working with both Cap and Thor and Tony, helping lift the debris from the wreckage of the labs. She isn’t quite sure where Clint or Natasha are, but why worry about that, when the two ton red hulking elephant is in the tower and they really need to talk about her. 

She and Bruce are sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by enough first aid to run a small triage unit. Bruce has meticulously avoided bringing up anything about his ex-girlfriend, the love of his life.

Who also happens to be a Hulk. 

_One of these things really isn’t like the other, Darcy._

“You’re mad at me.” Bruce says, his tongue poking between his teeth as he patches up her last little cut.

“I’m… wondering exactly what your thinking was when you didn’t tell Betty about us?”

Bruce pauses his ministrations, his fingertips squishing a medicated cotton ball. “H-how… how did you-?” 

She shrugs. “Tony decided it would be fun to listen in on your conversation.”

He tosses the cotton ball onto the table, visibly annoyed. “Dammit. Tony and I are going to have a long conversation about personal boundaries next time I see him.” Putting his hands on his legs, Bruce takes a few deep breaths to get himself under control. Darcy knows he is feeling raw right now, post-Hulk-out. This conversation really couldn’t have come at a better time. 

“I’m… I’m not angry… not angry… not angry…” Bruce repeats the phrase over and over, mantra-like. 

“I thought you were always angry,” she says quietly. He looks up at her, his face softening, and finally smiles.

“Look, I’m not mad either,” Darcy says first, and she believes that is the truth. For the most part. Mostly, she is nervous. Supremely nervous and scared about how Bruce will answer the next question. “So, did seeing Betty after all this time dredge up some residual feelings for you?” She manages to keep her voice steady, her tone even. She is shaking though, her insides vibrating so hard she is afraid that her vitals will tear her apart. “Are you embarrassed by me? By us?” 

“Darcy, hold on.” Bruce’s gentle voice, and his upturned palms, urging her to stop talking, silences her. “Don’t.” He blinks a couple of times, but takes her hand, gently, and licks his lips before staring at her, directly. “What Betty and I had is just that. We _had_ something. It was in the past.” 

“Okay, but that pretty much avoids my question-”

“When I saw her,” Bruce begins carefully, “I, literally, thought I was seeing a ghost. Just earlier, I sent your email out to her-”

She cannot help but grin, her lips pulling to the left in a bashful lopsided smile. “You sent it?”

Bruce nods. “And then she’s here. I was expecting not to hear from her for weeks. Months, even. I wasn’t prepared for today. I don’t know if you know this about me, but,” he beckons her to come closer, which she does. “I don’t do well with surprises.”

Darcy bobs her head. “No surprise parties, then? Good to know.” 

“Remember how I told you that I really wasn’t good with the whole dating thing?”

She nods again, allowing herself to relax a little as he rubs her bruised, cracked palms with his own rough, callused hands.

“Well, nothing’s really changed on that front. I… acted like an ass. I should’ve said something to her, should’ve introduced you differently. I wasn’t thinking.” 

Darcy inhales deeply, leans forward and gives him a small, but affectionate peck, on the nose. “Forgiven. For your penance, you will give me a massage later. For at least thirty minutes.” She kisses his lips, this time more intently. “Maybe forty.” 

“Done,” he says, relieved, and leans in for a deeper, more meaningful clinch, which she grants. Her hands, bruised and bandaged though they are, weave through the curls of hair gathered at his neck. She keeps him there, affectionately rubbing his skin with the tips of her fingers. 

They both ignore the footfalls of approaching Avengers; not even Tony’s obnoxious throat clearing can deter Darcy from the display of Bruce’s affection. She waves her hand at Tony. “Begone, pest!” 

“Not before I plead my case with Bruce one more time, and to properly meet who I’m assuming is your--?”

The female voice Darcy is not expecting. Neither is Bruce. They both pause; Darcy narrows her eyes at Bruce, curious to see how he will handle Betty’s intrusion. He looks at her, briefly. He gives her a sweet smile and a wink. 

Keeping a hold of her hand, he turns around to address Betty’s question. “My girlfriend. Darcy Lewis,” he says, gesturing at her. “I didn’t properly introduce you before. Darcy, this is Betty Ross.” 

Her heart ping-ponging like crazy in her chest, Darcy rises out of her seat. She nods and extends a noticeably clammy hand to the scientist. “Pleasure.” She hates that her mouth has gone completely dry.

 Betty gives her a warm smile. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things.” 

Oh? “Um, oh.” Darcy looks over at Tony, her eyebrow cocked.

“The rest of the team, well Tony, actually, got me up to speed on you.” She approaches Darcy, putting her hands on her shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. “You must be a special woman, to have captured Bruce’s heart.”

She is most definitely blushing under Betty’s gaze; the way she says, “captured Bruce’s heart,” is far beyond whatever it is they are. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. If one were to ask Darcy what she and Bruce are to each other, it definitely would be greater than “fuck buddies,” as one would actually have to fuck to meet that definition, but it would be less than, “soulmate of my very cold, sarcastic heart.” 

But she knows her feelings for Bruce are approaching that dangerous territory. Her angst about dealing with the Hulk, Betty’s sudden reappearance in her life and Darcy's reactions to Betty being here now are stark evidence of how much Bruce has come to mean to her. There is a part of her that doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to lose her heart to a man who always seems to be on the verge of running as far away as possible from the rest of the world. 

Or worse, feeling so strongly for a man whose greatest love has suddenly reappeared sharing the same pesky anger issues that has plagued him for so long. 

Darcy cannot help but wonder what Betty’s new red Hulkiness means for Bruce. A dark feeling of aloneness sweeps over her and she draws her arms to her side to keep her warm. It doesn’t help. 

Plus, the way Betty stares at her… ostensibly friendly, but there is a current underneath. Powerful and steel-like. Chilly. 

Betty leans forward and whispers in her ear, her voice cold and near homicidal. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.” She pulls away, her smile still lingering, super creepy. Darcy dares only to nod in response. 

“Message received.” She flashes two thumbs up and retreats to her seat. 

Betty and Tony, who has a bandage across his nose, join Bruce and Darcy at the round table. Soon, Steve, Thor, Clint and Natasha make their way over to the group. They are all covered in dirt and dust and debris. And all but Thor are bruised and cut up but good. 

Bruce winces when he sees the rest of the team arrive. “Guys… I am-”

“Ah, Jolly Green,” Tony interrupts, “don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Involuntary freakouts over seeing associates-slash-former-girlfriends changing into fellow hulks excuses you from any apologies. At least for the next 24 hours.” 

Backing down, Bruce nods at him, and Darcy feels her chest twist looking at how meek he seems as if retreating into his Bruce Banner shell. She scoots her chair closer to him, puts her arm around his back, and gives him a few gentle pats. He smiles in appreciation.

“All of us have witnessed your transformation, Dr. Ross.” This is Steve Rogers now, in full Cap mode. “We need an explanation. What happened to you? Who did this to you? And whatever help you need, the Avengers will provide it.” 

Coffee is poured, everyone settles in their seats, and Betty Ross begins, lifting her eyebrow for a fleeting moment when she catches Bruce taking Darcy’s hand in his.

 

###

It all fits into place, Darcy realizes. 

An hour of explaining, another hour of sifting through every file, surveillance photo scanned into J.A.R.V.I.S.’ memory, with her and Tony and Bruce, drawing lines between old photos taken of a man in a compound with a huge helmet. 

“The dates on this photo from the archive,” Betty says, pointing in the air at the image hovering just in front of her eyes. “This was taken when my dad and I were held captive by Sterns.”

“Oh… Shit a fucking brick!” Darcy exclaims, realizing this was one of the first pictures she saw when she agreed to be Bruce’s lab assistant, what feels like decades ago. “That’s why those pics of Sterns looked so damn familiar to me. The ones of The Leader!” She jabs her hands repeatedly at the photo she had told J.A.R.V.I.S. to post. 

Oh my God, does she feel like an idiot. “We saw these already, but we dumbassedly thought that thing wasn’t his skull, but a helmet. The entire time, that was Sterns!” 

Facepalm, facepalm, facepalm! 

Why, after everything she has seen, why didn’t she put two and two together.

_I bet Betty would have._

“Shut up!” Darcy says completely to herself. The others stare at her. Bruce pats her on the back.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m the one trained in gamma mutations, and I failed to catch Sterns too. Now with Betty here, we can piece together the rest of this information.”

“Yay, great.” Darcy hears the flatness of her own voice, but like she could care. It’s totally _awesomesupercool_ that Betty’s back in the mix. At least that’s what she tells herself. She’s just not entirely sure what that means for her and Bruce. 

She does not want to think about what that means for her and Bruce.

Betty, however, ignores her meh-like response and prattles on about Sterns. “The enlargement of his cranium, the swelling of his brain was the result of his gamma radiation mutation. Instead of killing him, however, it resulted in an increase of his intelligence and exposed him to what was apparently suppressed telekinetic powers. These powers are said to exist, untapped, deep within the human psyche. Typically, they are inaccessible to the average person. His exposure opened those potentials within him, but in doing so they consumed him completely.”

The words alone let Darcy know how serious the situation is; they would have been enough. But it is the thing in Betty Ross’ eyes, the spark of fear and terror as the woman relives her captivity under Sterns that snaps it all into place for Darcy. 

This man, this monster in every real sense of the word, is Enemy Number One. He has to be contained. Barring that, he has to be outright destroyed.

Tony lets out a low whistle. “I know I’m not the only one who wants to scan the fuck outta that brain. Am I right, Brucie Goose?”

Bruce shoots him a mild expression. “Well, if we weren’t worried about his ability to control non-gamma infected individuals, then I’d say sure, we could examine his brain. But the man was already a sadist before the gamma infection. Betty, from what you’ve said, from the way he treated you and your father--” 

“He’s dangerous,” Betty confirms, staring at Bruce in a way that makes Darcy want to stab puppies and chug a gallon of Chunky Monkey afterwards. “There won’t be any studying by anyone who hasn’t already been exposed to gamma radiation. Which basically leaves myself, Bruce, and…”

“General Ross,” Bruce finishes. 

Betty nods.

Clearing his throat, Steve Rogers walks around in front of them his arms crossed in front his star-spangled chest. “So, what is Stern’s plan, then? He’s infected both you and your father Dr. Ross-”

“Please, call me Betty.” There is a softness in Betty’s voice as she addresses Captain America, and Darcy to arch her already overworked eyebrow. Unsurprisingly, not even the venerable biologist Dr. Betty Ross is immune to the charms and all-American good looks of the captain himself.

“Pardon me,” Cap continues, “Betty. What’s his play? Create some sort of gamma mutant army that can subjugate anyone who hasn’t been irradiated?”

Betty looks at him pensively for a moment, then she nods her head twice slowly. “From what I gathered, and Sterns could ramble at great length, that is exactly what he’s trying to do. He has a machine, a device that he posits will infect millions of people with gamma radiation.”

Silence. “So… that could turn out all right.” Darcy’s statement comes out more as a question. “I mean, there’s Bruce, and you. You guys aren’t bad at all. In fact, Bruce is a hero, and Betty-”

It is Betty’s turn to raise her eyebrow.

“I saw you in there. You were in control the entire time.” Darcy shrugs. “You’ve got it down to, y’know, the whole 'smash with purpose' thing."

“Well, thanks.” Betty gives her a very quick wink, then turns back to the rest. “But we could be the exception to the rule. Think about it in these terms: we take a sampling of a hundred people in our population, chosen at random. If everyone in the sampling was infected by gamma radiation, our studies indicate that the best case scenario is, maybe, 75% would survive the irradiation process. The worst case scenario is one in two survive.”

“You’re saying this thing could kill off half the world’s population, outside of the sampling?” 

Betty nods solemnly in response to Cap’s question. “Theoretically, Captain, that’s what I posit. Then we must ask whether each individual in the remainder of the population that survives the initial exposure will be able to exert some degree of control to use their power. And then, of course, there is the human element." Betty shuts her eyes. "We could get gamma-irradiated mutants like Bruce and myself. Bruce and I have managed to gain some degree of control of our gamma-mutated beasts and we don't want to use our mutations for any nefarious purpose, but there is no way to expect the same of whoever survives the exposure." 

"We could get a hundred versions of Sterns and Blonksy, superpowered beings capable of genocide. The eradication of all humans."  Natasha says plainly.

Darcy lets out a low whistle. “Jesus. Yeah, fair point.”

“It’s far more unlikely that whoever survives the initial exposure will be in control of their faculties, of their actions.” The look on Bruce’s face frightens Darcy, as if the entire conversation didn’t already scare her completely shitless. He’s pale and his cheeks sink in to practically nothing. “Meaning that beyond death and destruction, we could be looking at thousands, potentially millions of Hulks all across the country.” He convulses, slamming a closed fist on the table. No one breathes. Cap has his shield in front of him, ready to use, and Tony is even on alert. Darcy reaches out, slowly, toward Bruce’s arm and places her hand on his skin.

He shuts his eyes. Works his jaw back and forth for ten whole minutes - Darcy counts - and then opens his eyes again. He is calmer and okay, though she thinks she may have peed herself a little. 

“Don’t worry. No more surprises today,” he says, his eyes meeting hers. She exhales and draws her lips together into a small smile.

“I know some of the algorithms that he will use to activate it but Bruce… this machine, this device is far beyond any of our comprehension.” Betty snorts, bitter and wounded. “I doubt even Einstein himself could figure it out. That’s how complex it is. Plus, I get the feeling he’s waiting for something.”

“Waiting?” Bruce knots his brows together. “What for?”

The doctor shrugs. “I don’t know. After we realized the extent of what he did to us, my father and I got out of his facility as fast as we could. I couldn’t keep him there any longer.”

“Then we must find this Sterns. We must bring him to your halls of justice, or dispose of him in battle. However, I would caution you, Banner, to take care.”

“That goes without saying, Thor.”  

“I believe what Thor might be implying is that Sterns may be laying a trap for you. For Dr. Ross and General Ross as well.” Cap nods at the doctor. 

Tony slaps the big blond guy on the upper arm, as he can barely reach Thor’s shoulders sans suit. “I’m with Hammertime and Capsicle. Take caution, but we need to track Sterns down, fast, before he powers up his doomsday machine.”

“Or figure out why he hasn’t yet.” Cap stares out the window. “Betty, can you track Sterns? Or at least lead us as close as possible to his present location?”

“I will do my best.”

###

Betty is settled into a room on the same floor as Bruce’s, because, of course she is. Because Tony’s still in high school and apparently a girl, and he wants all the drama. Darcy decides she will have a talk with Pepper about this soon; that'll be fun for Tony, she muses.

She can’t really stay mad at Tony though. There’s too much to think about. Betty’s return, Betty and her father’s mutations. Sterns whackadoodle gamma radiation takeover of the world. 

Yeah, her relationship woes are the least of her concerns.

She sips on a glass of wine. Bruce has taken to keeping a bottle, not for him but for her, a nice sweet white, usually a Moscato that she likes, because there are days like this when all the batcrazy of dating an Avenger comes full bore on her shoulders.

He emerges, damp and smelling of soap, from his shower, wearing a white undershirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. Darcy’s feels something in her heart lift and rise and - _wow!_ Bruce is just crazy beautiful, she thinks.

 She smiles. “Hey you,” in a soft voice.

“Hey you back,” Bruce replies and sits next to her, arm on the back of the couch, fingers finding her arms. Darcy leans back into him.

 “So,” she says after they both take the deepest of breaths together. “Slow day, huh?”

Bruce kisses the top of her head and she nuzzles even closer to him. “Seems like it. Darcy?”

“Huh?” 

Another deep breath, this time he inhales. “I’m so… I’m so sorry about everything.” 

“Bruce, don’t - apologize.” She will say it twenty times, though Darcy thinks it’ll take at least a hundred before Bruce really gets it. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, according to the details of Betty’s story, it kind of is. And now I have to clean up this horrible mess.”

Darcy sets her wine glass back down on the table and turns around to face her man. Cupping his face with her hand, she makes him look at her as she talks. Because, dammit, Bruce Banner is dumb for being so smart. “It’s not your fault that Sterns was infected with your blood. It’s not your fault that Sterns allowed his mutation to warp his brain and turn him into a criminal mastermind-in-training. And it’s our mess to clean up.”

“No!” Bruce’s voice is sharp, way sharper than Darcy thought possible, right on that precarious Hulk-release edge, and she flinches. “You’re staying the hell away from this.” 

“Oh really, Banner? Who's going to make me? You and what army of Hulks?"

"This isn't a joke."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not joking. I’m your goddamn lab assistant, a relationship forged in the fires of hell, an unbreakable, unshatterable bond between two connected souls-”

“This isn't something to mess around about, Darcy. You’re not coming with us.”

“What makes you think I'm not being real?” She acquiesces with a nod under Bruce’s withering stare. “Okay, I’ve been hanging out with Jane a little too much, but the point still stands. I’m with you in this, okay? With you. That means I’m coming, I’m helping with Betty and the General, and I’m doing whatever I will do to stop this shit. I’ve been researching and organizing, looking at files, finding information. I am informed on this business and you know what? You might just need me to help.”

All he can do is stare at her, gaping, indignant and silent, for a few moments, before letting a sigh loose and letting his head fall. “I think you and Natasha need to step it up in training now, if you’re going to be coming with.”

As a reward for finally seeing things her way, Darcy plants a kiss on his nose and hums in satisfied victory. “Good! Glad you’re seeing things my way.” 

She reclines more now, wrapping her arms around Bruce’s waist, snuggling in close to his chest, smelling him as he hugs her body tight to his. After the chaos, after everything that seems like it’s gone totally, unbelievably FUBAR, this is the only thing Darcy is convinced is real. The only thing in her life, besides Jane and sometimes science, that is true. The only thing that is honest.

_Her and Bruce. Bruce and her. Together._

She wants it all. In a rush, Darcy realizes that this is it. The moment. 

“I love you.”

The words spill out, speeding ahead of her thoughts. At this point, she’s basically, know what? screw it. Forget fears, insecurities, all that bullshit. She needs to tell him. He needs to know.

He tenses. “Wh-what? What did you say?” It sounds like he can’t breathe for a moment, and for that moment, Darcy thinks she’s completely screwed everything up. But it’s out, she cannot, and she refuses to, take it back. Because it would be a lie to say she doesn’t love this nutbar.

“I love you, Bruce. Actually, more specifically, I’m in love with you.” She lifts her head and has to laugh, because Bruce Banner looks confused, dumbfounded, and totally lost.

“What… I… Darcy…”

She sits up a little more, taking his hands in hers, and brings them to her very pouty lips, kissing his knuckles. “I don’t need to hear it back. Actually, I’d rather tell you and leave it at that because the last thing I want is to hear you say it because you feel like you’re obliged to say it back, but I am in crazy, insane, wicked hard love with you, Bruce Banner and that includes this entire life, the Hulk, the baggage with Betty, this cray cray Sterns stuff, Tony Stark… everything. I mean it. I’m in. I’m into you one-thousand percent and if you’re not quite there yet, that’s cool. You can let this freak you out or you can choose my particular brand of crazy because I’m giving it to you. It's all I can give, really.” Darcy releases the most tremulous of breaths because she can no longer hold it in and she’s out of words, out of thoughts. She's laying on the line, leaving it up to Bruce to Hulk stomp her heart into tiny pieces if he so chooses. But it’s all there. 

“I’m giving it to you. Short of snatching a justice of the peace, I am here telling you that you have me. Boobs, ass, heart. All of me. I’m yours.”

His releases his own breath, which warms her face and breezes through strands of her hair. He pulls her tight to him, practically crushing her in his chest, the hardest, firmest embrace he has ever given her.

“Darcy, I’m in.”

Joy. She knows it’s joy because, for a moment, she feels like she could fly.

“You are?” Her voice is muffled in his chest and she can feel the tiny prickles from her scratches on her face and she does not care because Bruce Banner isn’t running away, isn’t fleeing in terror. She definitely doesn’t care that Bruce doesn’t say it back because it’s just words really, and she is more of an action girl than a word girl. Which is ironic, she realizes, because _hello train of thought confession!_

But Bruce doesn’t run. Bruce is here, answering her question by clinging to her like she’s the only thing on earth, kissing her hair, her eyes, the tip of her nose and finally her mouth.

She loves him and he is totally into that.


End file.
